Ember
by LittleMissToughStuff
Summary: With the loss of her daughter, Carol finds herself questioning her role in the group, her identity, and her unique connection with Daryl. Daryl just wishes things were simpler. Picks up right after "Beside the Dying Fire." Caryl, M.
1. Chapter 1

I own nothing (and nothing owns me).

Ember

Chapter 1 : The Smoldering Remains

Later, she would realize that, despite everything that had come before, things had really begun to change that chilly autumn night, while huddled with her few remaining companions around their small fire. It seemed like the longest night of her life, probably of all their lives. Not the worst night, certainly - that first sleepless night after she'd lost Sophia still held that distinction - but probably the longest. They'd been up for nearly 48 hours straight, and in that time, they'd had to abandon another home. The barn had burned, and they'd had to flee the farm - which was now overrun with the walking dead. Worse still, they'd lost more people along the way; Jimmy, Patricia, Shane, Andrea…over the last few months they'd lost more friends and family than she could count, but it never got any easier. The ache just got duller and heavier as they tried to contain it all, pushing it down inside themselves where they could pretend to make peace with it. Mourning was not a luxury they could afford.

These wounds were still fresh, however, and while she knew that there was no use dwelling on it, Carol was having a hard time clearing her mind of these troubling thoughts. She kept replaying those last moments at the farm, before Daryl had heard her screams and come back for her, when Andrea…

Andrea. Up rose a fresh stab of pain and guilt at the thought of her friend. Andrea had saved her life, as surely as she was sitting here now, but Carol had not been able to do the same in return; She simply wasn't strong enough. She wasn't a fighter like Andrea, or Daryl. She was no leader, like Rick, or Shane. She wasn't quick and resourceful like Glenn, or skilled like Hershel, who while he was "only a veterinarian," had managed to save so many of their lives already. No, she was none of those things. She contributed nothing, when she really thought about it. Who really needed clean laundry in this brutal new world? She had no place, and no purpose. Not anymore. She was no one's mother, no one's wife, barely even a friend. The closest thing she'd had to a friend was Andrea, and Andrea, like everyone else she came to care about, was gone.

Then there was Daryl.

Carol shook her head slightly. She didn't know what to think about that.

She had meant what she'd said to Daryl just a few hours before; as far as this group was concerned, she was a burden. Why she was still here, alive, using up valuable resources when so many of the good, deserving people they'd all cared for were gone…well, it didn't seem right.

Carol took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, grounding herself. _Maybe not, _she thought,_ but here I am._

She stared intently into the fire, avoiding the faces of the other people around her. If only "here" weren't such a lonely place to be. It was almost worse than feeling like an utterly useless person. She couldn't remember ever having felt so alone before, not even in all the miserable years she'd been married to Ed. She'd had Sophia, after all. There was a time when all she'd had to do was think of Sophia, and the thought would bring her comfort; but Sophia's death had left a gaping hole inside of her, and the hole seemed to be collapsing in on itself tonight. She missed her little girl. She missed her friends. Jacqui and Andrea. Dale. In some perverse way, she even missed Ed. At least when Ed was alive, she knew what was expected of her.

Carol chuckled bitterly to herself. How bad were things that she's prefer the hell of living with Ed to the present?

Though she loathed the comparison, sometimes being with Daryl wasn't so different from being with Ed. It seemed strange how sitting next to an unresponsive person could make you feel more lonely than simply being alone. Stranger still how she found herself wanting to sit beside him anyway. It was his watch at the moment, and she wasn't entirely sure where he was, or really how he was functioning at all on such little sleep and food. Say what you would about that difficult man, but his determination was staggering. She worried for his safety, of course, but honestly felt safer knowing that _he_ was the one watching over them. Maybe she should have been trying to take advantage of that fact by going to sleep. Not that it would do much good. Physically, she was exhausted, but her mind kept running in endless circles.

She raised her head, and slowly looked around the fire at her remaining companions. Across from her, on the other side of the fire, Lori had Carl curled up against her chest, with Rick pressed to her back, his arm across them both. Whatever Lori's feelings might have been about what had happened between Rick and Shane, it didn't seem to outweigh her need for warmth and comfort, Carol observed. Maggie and Glenn had snuck off to their car a short while ago; no doubt they were planning to keep warm in another way. To her left, T-Dog and Hershel sat up talking, with Beth asleep, her head in Hershel's lap, the old man absently stroking his daughter's hair. Little moments of connection and affection, a balm against the terrors of the night.

_How nice for them,_ she thought, with more than a touch of bitterness. It seemed that she was destined to watch life continue from the margins from now on. The only one who seemed to notice that she still existed was Daryl, and since he was nowhere to be seen, she was left alone with her thoughts.

Carol hugged her body, pulling her thin sweater around her more tightly. It was no use putting it off any longer; she should try to sleep. Besides, the sooner this night was over, the better. With nothing to cover her but the inadequate clothes on her back, she lay down on the hard ground, as close to the fire as she dared. One by one, she heard the others settle in and drift off, but sleep refused to come, no matter how hard she willed it. Soon she was left with nothing to occupy her but the night noises and the cold. It felt like she had been lying there for hours when she finally heard the quiet, steady rhythm of Daryl's boots approaching their makeshift camp. There was the sound of low voices as he woke T-Dog for his shift, then some more scuffling, and finally, after a few minutes, the sound of Daryl hunkering down near her, maybe a foot away from her turned back. He muttered a soft curse, an unspoken complaint about his aching body. A few seconds later and there was nothing but his breathing. Now she _really _couldn't sleep. Her heart had sped up, as if trying to catch up with her mind. She hated to admit it, but ever since they'd lost Sophia, Daryl made her feel… anxious. She wasn't very good at hiding it from him, either. She knew he was frustrated with her. When they'd spoken earlier that night, he'd finally come right out and asked, _What do you want?_ The trouble was, she wasn't really sure herself.

Well, sleep, to start with. Just sleep, but it was all too much; too many thoughts, too cold, too close to Daryl for comfort…or not close enough. If things were different, if he were different, they could have taken comfort in one another, even if just from the cold. If she were bolder, perhaps. If he were more receptive. But she didn't want to inflict herself on him any more than she already had. She was dangerously close to making a complete fool of herself. These thoughts, too, she tried to push down, but after several more excruciating minutes of frozen silence, she couldn't stand it any longer.

"Daryl?" she whispered tentatively, rolling herself over to face him.

"Hm? " he muttered back drowsily, and after a beat of silence, a slightly impatient, "Well, what do you want now?" Steeling her resolve, Carol forced herself to continue.

"Please don't read too much into this, I'm freezing."

Once the words were out, there was no turning back. Scooting across the foot or so that separated them, she invaded his space, laying her head on his chest and an arm across his waist, hugging him to her. His leather vest was cold to the touch, however, so throwing caution to the wind, she slid her hand between the inside of the vest and his body, where she finally found the warmth she was looking for. She wished she was bold enough to slip beneath his shirt, but that would undoubtedly be taking things too far. If that level of intrusion weren't enough to keep her in check, he probably also wouldn't appreciate her icy fingers on his warm skin. And maybe this was already a bad idea. Daryl's body had tensed, with a short, sharp intake of breath, the minute her hands had found their way beneath his jacket, and he didn't seem to know where to put his arms. After a few seconds, he awkwardly draped the one nearest her across her back, the other up beneath his head. With her head resting on his chest, she couldn't tell which was louder, the sound of his heart hammering through his chest, or her own pounding in her ears. She felt a small stab of guilt, as she was certain the she was making him uncomfortable with this forced intimacy, but he hadn't said anything or pulled away, and she was so very cold, and desperate for human contact. She was grasping at anything, because he had been right - she was scared, and she had nothing left. Just the slim hope of connecting with another person. Someone who might understand some of what she was feeling most days, who knew a thing or two about living in the margins. Someone as alone as she was.

After several minutes, his heart and breathing slowed down, and his body began to relax a bit. Carol took a deep breath in, a sigh of momentary relief, and caught his scent. He smelled musky, not entirely an unpleasant smell, despite the fact that he hadn't washed. He smelled like smoke and dirt. But hell, they probably all did. It was almost comforting. More comforting still was the fact that, whatever he might be thinking about her, he was keeping it to himself and leaving her be. It wasn't exactly the connection she might have hoped for, but for tonight, she'd take whatever she could get.


	2. Chapter 2

Can anyone really own anything? Maybe, but not this.

Ember

Chapter 2 - Stirring the coals

Daryl woke just before sunrise, in one of those brief few moments of silence between when the night creatures had finally shut up and the daytime noises hadn't started up yet. The sky was just beginning to lighten, and through one cracked eyelid he could make out Rick on the other side of what was left of the fire, stirring the embers with a stick. Grunting softly, he gently untangled himself from Carol. She woke for a second, blinking at him, before settling back down, her head resting on her folded arm, not quite ready to face the day. His muscles ached in protest as he rose to sit - his back and neck were stiff from laying in the same position all night, pinned beneath Carol, and his right arm had gone completely numb. Wincing as he rubbed the back of his neck, he rose to his feet and shuffled over to where Rick sat. They acknowledge each other with a silent nod as Daryl crouched down near him, and then both stared into the nearly dead coals for a few moments, before Rick finally spoke.

"We good?" he asked, turning his head to look Daryl in the eye. Daryl levelly returned Rick's gaze, as though taking his time to consider the question. The truth was, he didn't have a problem with Rick's actions at all. As far as he was concerned, Shane had become a mad dog that had needed to be put down. Hell, he respected the man for having the balls to finally do something about it. And as for keeping what Jenner had told him from the rest of the group, well, it didn't really matter much, did it? Infected or not, dead was dead. They just needed to be especially careful about destroying the brains of their fallen from now on. Didn't change much, actually, since most of the people they lost were to walkers anyway. Same shit, different day.

Daryl nodded. "Yeah, we're good."

Rick offered up a thin, tight lipped imitation of a smile. "Good."

Damn if Rick wasn't looking a bit rough around the edges. None of them were gonna win any beauty contests these days, but you could tell that the strain of leadership was starting to take its toll on the former sheriff's deputy. Daryl waited for Rick to continue, wanting to know what came next, what the plan was. But instead, Rick suddenly cocked a genuine half smile at him, an amused expression softening the lines of his haggard face some. He nodded his head in the direction Daryl had just come from.

"You two looked cozy."

Daryl shifted, and dropped his eyes to the ground, uncomfortable with the sudden turn their conversation had taken. It took him a few seconds to find his tongue.

"Woman won't stop gettin' all up in my space," he complained, not sounding as convincingly annoyed as he'd have liked. "She needs to find herself a man, but quick."

Rick sighed, glanced around the camp, and started stirring the coals again. Looking sideways at Daryl, he cleared his throat and said plainly, "I think she already has."

Daryl frowned, raising his head to scowl darkly at the other man. "We gonna sit here cluckin' like a couple of hens all mornin,' or do you have somethin' useful to tell me? What's the plan, Rick?"

Rick winced at the sudden hard edge in Daryl's voice. In an instant, the weight of all his concerns returned to his face, like a shadow passing over him. He frowned.

"Right, of course. But we should wake the others first," then after a beat he added, "So you know, I meant no offense. It's none of my business, and I know it's not my place to tell you yours. But she's a good woman, friend, and it's as plain as day that she cares for you. Times like these…" he paused, staring off into the distance, considering a moment before he continued, "Well, that goes a long way, trust me."

Daryl was silent. He looked away from Rick, back over his shoulder to where he'd left Carol sleeping.

"Naw," he said softly to himself, his voice sounding flat and hollow in the stillness of the morning. Without another word, he turned and headed off to the side of the road to take a piss.

When he got back, he saw that Rick had roused some of the others. He'd left his crossbow where he'd slept, so steering clear of Carol was out of the question. She'd probably just come looking for him anyway as soon as she was up; she'd been dogging his steps for some time now, always around, trying to tell him who he was and what he deserved and where he should be going. The woman needed to find something else to do with herself, because he wasn't going to stand for being her damn pet project. He got that she was lonely, and that she meant well, but that didn't have to be his problem, did it?

Annoyed at her, Rick, himself, and the world in general, he stalked over to where she was laying, intent on retrieving his weapon. But when he knelt down to pick it up, her found himself compelled to reach over and put his hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently.

"Hey," he muttered, "time to get up." Carol woke instantly, sitting right up, looking slightly confused and a little embarrassed.

"Oh! …Thank you." she managed, clearly flustered. But then she was giving him that look again, that searching look that he didn't understand. Before she could say anything else, he said, "Sure," got up, and left. His stomach was all in knots, and not just because they hadn't had a proper meal since the night before last. Why was she always doing that? What the hell did she expect from him? He'd done right by her and her little girl, had eventually gone above and beyond what anyone else had been willing to do, even though he'd had no reason to, and in the end, it had all been for nothing. The little girl was dead, and he had nothing to offer. And then there was that business last night. Wanting to leave the group with him, calling him a henchman… 'Don't read too much into this…' What was he supposed to make of that? Why couldn't she ever just come right out and say what she meant, instead of trying to make him guess all the time? The woman was exhausting.

"Alright, people," Rick called as the small, dusty group gathered around, "We need to deal with our immediate concerns. Glenn, I need you and Maggie to find some gas, see if we can't get all the cars up and running again. If you can't find any pumps, see if you can find a hose so we can try siphoning some from abandoned cars - we're dead in the water here, and it's not safe."

Glenn exchanged a look with Maggie, then turned to Rick and nodded. "On it."

"Good. Daryl, I want you with me. We're gonna scout up ahead, see if we can't find somewhere safer to hole up. It's only going to get colder from here on out. Now we're going to need some food and basic supplies to tide us over until we find a place to settle. T-Dog, you and Andrea-" Rick stopped the instant he realized his mistake, her name hanging in the air. For a moment, no one breathed.

Finally, T-Dog said softly, "I can just…I can go by myself." Rick nodded, his eyes fixed on the ground. When he finally looked up again, he continued, his voice sounding strained.

"Alright. The rest of you'll have to stay put. Hershel, you got any shells left?"

"Some," the older man replied. Rick nodded, grimly.

"It'll have to do. I want everyone back here before sundown. I don't want us to have to spend another night out here if we can help it. Alright? If anybody's got something to say, speak up now, otherwise, let's get a move on."

"Actually, Rick, I'd like to go with Theodore."

Daryl looked up at the sound of Carol's voice, startled. They all did.

"Carol," Rick began delicately, "I think it would be safer-"

"No," she said quickly, cutting him off, "he needs another set of eyes out there, and let's face it, no one's counting on me to come back."

There was a heavy, uncomfortable silence, and Daryl felt the all-too familiar feeling of anger burning it's way through his body. He huffed a few quick breaths through his nostrils, trying to calm himself before he either stormed off or started shouting at her right in front of everyone. Luckily, Lori spoke up before he had a chance to.

"Carol, honey, you know that's not true, we all care about you."

Daryl could have burned holes into Carol, he was watching for her reaction so intently. She smiled a thin, patient smile at Lori, but he could sense her irritation.

"You don't need to patronize me," she said plainly, "I don't have a death wish. But I also don't have anyone depending on me like you do, Lori, or Hershel. It's a logical choice. I can't do much in a fight, but I can certainly keep an eye out and warn him if I see anything, can't I? Besides, I know what we need to run this camp better than anyone."

"I can't argue with that," T-Dog admitted, looking at Rick first, then Daryl, "and I wouldn't mind the company."

Rick shook his head, arms akimbo. "Alright," he said, reluctantly. "It's your call."

Carol smiled at T-Dog, and mouthed a silent 'Thank you.' Daryl absorbed all of this, seething. He tightened his grip on the crossbow slung across his back and started over to her, when Carl stepped between them, intent on Carol. From the waistband of his pants, the boy produced a very familiar handgun and offered it up to the woman.

"Carol, you don't have a weapon. You can borrow my gun, ok?"

That was the last straw. Daryl's hand shot out and jerked the gun out of the boy's hands.

"That's _MY_ gun," he spat, "and I've been wonderin' where the hell that was! You stay out of my shit, you hear? I catch you with this again and I'll beat the tar outta ya, you understand?"

Carl nodded quickly, his eyes wide. He looked imploringly at his father, but Rick merely shook his head and shooed the boy over to his mother. Daryl made a show of inspecting the gun, but he could feel their eyes on him.

"That wasn't necessary," Carol said softly, so the others wouldn't hear, "He's just a boy, and he meant well."

Daryl swung around at the sound of her voice, and leaned into her intimidatingly.

"Never mind him, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Pulling my weight," she said evenly, crossing her arms over her chest and looking him in the eye, almost challenging him.

"You're gonna get yourself killed, more like. Have you lost your goddamn mind? What are you trying to prove, other than you don't know shit about protecting yourself?" he fumed, raising his voice.

_Ah hell, let 'em stare._

Carol shrugged at him, finally looking away. "Gotta start somewhere, don't I?"

"Real nice. You think this is some kinda game? There's monsters out there."

"There's monsters right here," she retorted, her eyes burning, and his head snapped back as if he'd been slapped. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He turned on his heels, walked a few steps, then turned back, not sure whether to leave or stay, and all the time she stood there, silent. After a minute, he stopped, looked down at the gun in his hand as if suddenly realizing it was still there, then held it out to her.

"Take it," he ordered. Carol regarded him levelly.

"I don't want it."

"Don't be stupid," he said softly. The fight had gone out of him.

"Daryl," she hesitated, the expression on her face softening, "I'm a lousy shot. I'll just end up hurting myself or T-Dog." Daryl frowned darkly.

"_Bullshit. _You don't need to be no marksman if your target's close enough to grab you. _Take it_." His jaw was set, and his tone left no room for argument. Carol nodded, resigned, and gently took the gun from his outstretched hand.

With the tension between them calming, the rest of the group started to wander back over. Maggie and Glenn had already taken off during the argument, but Rick and T-Dog had been waiting on the sidelines, anxious to get moving. Rick approached first.

"You ready?" he asked. Daryl nodded, sneaking a quick glance back at Carol.

"Yeah, I'm ready."

T-Dog was heading toward Carol, but on his way over, he stopped to talk with them.

"Hey man," he said in a low voice, looking at Daryl, "I'll get her back in one piece, I promise."

Daryl narrowed his eyes and brushed past the other man, calling over his shoulder, "I ain't her keeper," loud enough for anyone within earshot to hear.


	3. Chapter 3

Ok, I do own _some_ things, but I don't own this.

Ember

Chapter 3 - Ignition

It was well past midday by the time they spotted the truck stop diner. T-Dog pulled the faded black pickup truck off the road, into the parking lot, and keeping a safe distance from the building, he cut the engine. They'd been searching all morning, but hadn't found much. This section of the highway seemed impossibly desolate - no gas stations, nothing off the exits - they were literally in the middle of nowhere. The few abandoned cars they had found had been mostly empty, though they'd managed to collect a few things here and there; a couple of blankets, a disposable lighter, a plastic gas can, some jumper cables, an aluminum baseball bat, a grey hooded sweatshirt - which Carol had immediately put on over her thin sweater - and a small bag of assorted tools, but no food or water. Whoever had left the cars must have taken anything they considered to be of real value with them. They couldn't even siphon the gas from the dead automobiles; they'd all been run dry. All, that is, with the exception of the one they were sitting in now.

They'd had to walk about three miles out before they'd found anything - Maggie and Glenn had taken the only working car to find gas, and Rick and Daryl had gone off ahead on Merle's motorcycle to search for shelter, leaving T-Dog and Carol severely limited. Luckily, the plan to find new transportation had eventually panned out; though she honestly hadn't thought it would take as long as it had. On the highways in and out of Atlanta, there had been cars everywhere, but out here was a different matter. On the plus side, they hadn't encountered any walkers yet - which almost made sense, considering how deserted the place was. About a quarter of a mile from where they'd found the truck, they spotted the highway sign for the truck stop; it had been the most promising thing they'd seen all day. But now that they were sitting in the lot, staring at the building, Carol found that she was afraid to go inside.

"You ready to do this?" T-Dog asked, breaking the silence.

"No," she said, swallowing hard, "But let's go."

T-Dog grabbed his shotgun and they stepped out of the truck. Carol pulled Daryl's gun from the waistband of her pants.

"Do you think these pumps are working?" she asked as they passed by the island of gas pumps in front of the diner. While the truck ran perfectly for now, there was only about a quarter of a tank left until it was just another useless hunk of metal.

"No, they need electricity to run," T-Dog answered. "If Glenn and Maggie aren't able to find anything else, we might be able to pump it up from the tanks underneath, assuming we can find a hardware store with a manual pump."

Carol looked around at the barren landscape. "I'm not feeling optimistic."

"Never mind that for now," T-Dog cautioned, "for all we know, they've taken care of it already. We need to focus on the job at hand."

The silence was oppressive as they walked toward the door to the restaurant; the only sound was the scuffling of their footsteps. Somewhere nearby, a crow cawed loudly, visibly startling Carol.

"Easy, girl," T-Dog said soothingly, but she could hear the strain in his voice. They had reached the front door, and despite his best efforts to put on a brave face for her, she could tell that he was nervous.

"Ok," he instructed, "I'm gonna go in first. You stay behind me and make sure our exit stays clear. Keep the truck in sight, in case we have to get out of here in a hurry. Once I've done a full sweep, I'll come back and watch the door while you go look for anything we need. Got that?"

Carol nodded. With one last look at each other, T-Dog pulled open the door and disappeared inside. Carol put the door to her back, holding it open so that she could alternately watch the truck and the inside of the store. She could hear T-Dog moving around inside the diner, but he'd gone into another part of the building that she couldn't see from where she stood. After what seemed like a painfully long time, T-Dog called, "All clear!" and came back to take her place at the door.

"There are some cans back in the kitchen. Most of the food's spoiled, and there are some bodies back there, so be prepared for the smell, it's awful. There's also a small convenience store just past the counter, there," he said, pointing, "I bet there's lots of things we can use."

"I'll grab some bags," Carol said firmly, trying to sound braver and more confident than she felt. She tucked the gun away, and squaring her shoulders, set to work.

She began in the convenience store, because it was out in the open - she'd save the horrors of the kitchen for last. Surprisingly, the store had been barely picked over - going on this, and the lack of cars, she had to assume that not too many survivors had come down this way. She filled her bags with food, first and foremost - canned fruit and tuna, peanut butter, crackers, cereal, canned pasta and soup, anything that wasn't spoiled. She even filled two bags with chips, candy and gum. She ignored most of what was in the cooler, but there were a few bottles of water, and some juice that was worth giving a try. When she'd looked over everything, she moved on to supplies; lighter fluid, antifreeze, duct tape, lighters, flashlights, candles, matches, soap, toilet paper, can openers, even batteries. Hanging from the ceiling were some knit caps and gloves, and in the next aisle, she found small packages of No-doze, pain killers, and cold medicines, along with band-aids, burn gel, and a number of other first-aid remedies. She took everything.

Feminine products. _Yes! _

Pregnancy tests? _Maybe not? _She grabbed a few anyway.

Condoms. She paused. Glenn and Maggie would definitely need those; the last thing their group needed was another pregnancy.

_Yes._

All of them? _Yes…_

She picked up the first package off the shelf, feeling a little silly for even hesitating. She turned the box over in her hand, taking a moment to look it over. Ed had hated wearing condoms, and had never used them; she'd secretly been on the pill for years. Last time she'd held a box of condoms was in college. Carol smiled, remembering how embarrassed she'd been the first time she'd had to buy them. She was wondering if they still had those childish drawings in the instructions - a penis as imagined by a twelve year-old, and oddly specific warnings, like 'Do not tear open with teeth' - when a sudden, startling image leapt unbidden into her mind. Daryl, shirt open, eyes burning, tearing a condom wrapper open with his teeth. She gasped. Her heart sped up, and her face flushed.

_Oh my god, where did THAT come from?_

It had been a long time since she'd felt…anything like that. She hadn't felt comfortable wanting anything or anyone - she'd spent so many years learning to suppress her desires and do without to survive. But it occurred to her now that with Ed gone, she was finally free to want anything. Or anyone. It was both liberating and terrifying. All the years she'd spent numbly existing, sleepwalking through her life…it had been a waking nightmare, in many ways, but she'd gotten used to not feeling much of anything, and what Daryl seemed to be inspiring within her now frightened her almost as much as it excited her. She wasn't young or pretty, she wasn't even particularly interesting. Wanting someone felt dangerous.

"You ok over there?" T-Dog called, bringing her back to earth.

"Oh! Uh, yes!" she called back, flustered and more than a little embarrassed that she'd been 'caught' daydreaming while holding prophylactics. "I, uh, I'm almost finished here. I'll go back and check the kitchen, and then we can go. If you want, you could start loading all this stuff into the truck?"

"You sure?" he asked, sounding doubtful. "It's safer if we stick together."

"I know, but you've already made sure the place is clear, and it would get us out of here faster," she pointed out.

"That's true," he conceded, but he seemed unwilling to leave her. Whether he was concerned for her safety, or reluctant to go back out in the open without back-up, he wouldn't say, but she suspected it was the former. He was a strong and capable, well suited for survival - and despite her best efforts, she was likely slowing him down.

"I'll be fine," she said firmly, "Please, Theodore, I came here to help - let me help."

T-Dog took a few moments to weigh the options, a somber expression on his face. Finally, he shook his head, and said, "Alright, but let's be quick about it."

Carol nodded. Bracing herself, she turned and headed toward the kitchen. The smell hit her before she even reached the door, but she kept walking right on through. The remains of two young waitresses were on the floor, neither of them walkers - it looked like a double suicide, gunshots to the head. She grimaced, stepping over the bodies, and went straight to work emptying the cabinets. She didn't waste any time reading labels, but grabbed any and all cans she could find. She even took the kitchen knives and a few cans of sterno for good measure. She gave the rest of the kitchen a cursory glance, and decided she'd had enough. Maybe they didn't have everything they needed, but they had virtually nothing, so almost everything she took was potentially useful. She spotted a large pot hanging by the back wall, and decided to grab it on her way out.

As she passed the back door, she heard the unmistakable crackle of a walkie-talkie. She froze, not even daring to breathe, and before she had time think, she heard a man's voice speaking in a hushed tone just outside the door.

"There's two of them. They must have found my truck, because one of them is loading it up as we speak. Over."

The crackling sound again, followed by a barely decipherable voice, saying, "Great, they did all the work. They gonna put up much of a fight? Over."

"One of them's a big black guy," she heard the unseen man respond, "but the other one's Susie Homemaker. Shouldn't be too hard. Over."

"Another woman? Jackpot," she heard the muffled voice chuckle, and a cold shiver ran down her spine. "Keep them there, we're about 12 minutes down the road. Over."

"Roger, over and out."

Carol backed away from the door, desperate to be anywhere but where she was. She had to get to the truck, had to warn T-Dog, but in her haste to get away, she dropped one of the kitchen knives. It clattered to the floor, and once again, Carol froze, hoping she hadn't been heard; but the back door swung open, and there stood a strange, dark-haired man with a friendly smile.

"Hey there, ma'am," he said, all youth and charm, "How long you been standin' there?"

Carol dropped everything and ran. She made it out of the kitchen and almost to the front door when he grabbed her from behind.

"Oh-ho! Not fast enough, honey buns!" He rasped in her ear as he dragged her back to the kitchen, his hand clamped firmly over her mouth. "Now if you don't stop wriggling, I'm gonna _hurt you_," he warned, "but if you calm down like the good girl that I know you are, I'll play nice. Do we have an understanding? Nod if you understand."

Carol nodded, and stopped struggling.

"My friends are going to be here in a little bit, and I'm sorry, but they're going to kill your friend. But you, little lady, nobody's gonna harm you. Unless you put up a fight, that is."

_He has a kind voice,_ Carol thought absurdly. How was that even possible?

"Carol?" She heard T-Dog call suddenly. Carol's heart leapt.

"Tell him you're alright," the man whispered in her ear. She winced as the stubble on his cheek scratched her face. "I have a _very_ sharp knife right here, and if you scream or tip him off, I'm gonna cut out your tongue." Carol nodded again, and the man took his hand off of her mouth.

"I'm back here," she called to T-Dog, trying to sound relaxed and normal. "I'm almost done, just keep loading the truck."

"Alright," he called back, "but try to hurry up, we need to get going."

"Just a few more minutes," she promised. "I'll meet you at the truck."

"Ok," she heard him say, and this was followed by the heart rending sound of the diner door swinging closed.

"Good job," the man said, relaxing his grip on her a bit. Carol began to sob quietly.

"Will you please let go?" she whimpered "I promise not to run, I promise. Please? You're hurting me."

"I will," the man said softly, "But if you break that promise, I promise _you_ that you will be a very, very sorry girl."

"I promise," she mewled, and the man finally released his grip on her. She walked slowly to the kitchen counter and gripped it tightly with both hands, holding herself up. She had to pull herself together, and quickly. No one was coming to save her this time. This man and his 'friends' were killing men and collecting women; it didn't take much imagination to figure out what was going to happen to her when they arrived. There was little doubt in her mind that these people were the same group that Randall had been running with, and what was it Daryl had said about them?

'_They roll through here, our boys are dead, and our women, they're gonna…they're gonna wish they were.'_

That could not be allowed to happen. Not only because of what they had planned for herself and T-Dog, but if…_when_ they tortured her, how long would it be before she gave up the location of their camp? She had failed Sophia and Andrea because of her fear and weakness. She couldn't let that happen again. She _wouldn't_.

"Now we'll just sit here and wait," the man said smugly, his eyes moving lazily up and down her body.

Carol closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"**No**."

Pulling Daryl's gun from the waistband of her pants, Carol turned and faced the man. Speaking with a confidence she didn't entirely feel, she said, "You're going to stay here, and we're leaving. And if you come anywhere near me, I _will_ kill you."

For a split second, the man looked completely taken aback. She could tell that he hadn't expected her to be armed, and that spoke volumes about how she must appear to him; weak, useless, stupid. The man recovered quickly, however, and the smile returned to his face.

"Do you know how to use that?"

With shaking fingers, Carol flipped the safety off. The man seemed to hesitate for a moment, uncertain, but then he took a slow step forward, his hands raised up beside his head, palms out.

"Don't come any closer!" she cried, taking a step backward. "I mean it, I'll shoot! You're giving me no choice!"

Unperturbed, the man took another step. He smiled broadly, and gave her a look that could have frozen the blood in her veins.

"Thing is, sweetheart, I don't think you will."

iiiii

Out in the parking lot, waiting beside the loaded truck, T-Dog was beginning to get impatient. He had half made up his mind to go back in and collect Carol, whether she was finished or not, when he heard the first gun shot, followed almost instantly by the second. With a loud curse, he grabbed his shotgun and ran for the diner, bursting through the front door.

"Carol? Carol!" he called, and when she didn't answer, he rushed to the kitchen. He found her standing over the body of a dark haired young man, with Daryl's gun in her hand. Her face and clothing were spattered with the man's blood, but she seemed unharmed; physically, at least. She was stuck, staring at the grisly remains of what had been the man's face.

"Carol?" he asked uncertainly, not understanding what had happened or where the man had appeared from, and afraid that she might be in a severe state of shock. At the sound of her name, however, she seemed to finally notice him standing there.

"He's dead," she said softly, as if just realizing it. She looked down at the gun in her hand, and uttered a small cry of alarm when she noticed the flecks of blood that covered her arms.

"Easy, easy!" T-Dog soothed, reaching over slowly to remove the gun from her hand. "Are you alright?" he asked, "What the hell happened in here?"

Carol blinked at him incomprehensively, but then a second later, she seemed to snap out of it. Her eyes widened, and she shook her head.

"We need to go. _Now_!"


	4. Chapter 4

Robert Kirkman created _The Walking Dead_, but dinner was provided by Kraft and Hormel.

Ember

Chapter 4 - Running hot

Their shadows were getting long by the time Rick and Daryl started back toward camp, and the temperature was dropping steadily. Merle's motorcycle roared angrily as they sped down the country road, kicking up bits of dirt and gravel. It felt different, Daryl noticed, with Rick riding pillion instead of Carol. For one thing, surprisingly, Carol didn't squeeze him half so hard; he had a feeling that either the bike, his driving, or the combination of the two were making Rick more than a little nervous. It was funny, actually, because Carol was a timid little thing, but she'd ridden with him for miles, and at times hadn't held on to him at all, but held tight to the back of the bike. Though if he was going to be honest with himself, that seemed a little less like bravery, and little more like she was afraid to touch him, like she thought he'd get pissed or something. Still, when she _had_ held on to him, she'd seemed comfortable enough with his driving not to squeeze the shit out of him. Unlike some people.

"We're almost there," Daryl shouted back to Rick, "but if you don't let up some, you're gonna have to buy me a drink."

"Sorry!" Rick shouted back, but he didn't loosen his death grip on Daryl's sides much, and when they bounced over a small pothole, he cried, "Jesus Christ, take it easy!" and clung even tighter.

Come to think of it, Carol didn't complain, either.

Thankfully, within a few minutes they rounded a bend in the road, and, as promised, were greeted with the welcoming sight of their camp, their companions, and a shining steel, 18-wheel fuel tanker. Glenn was leaning against the grille of the enormous truck, his arms folded over his chest, and a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Daryl brought the bike to a quick stop, and Rick immediately hopped off. Daryl might have noticed that the man looked a little green around the gills, if his attention hadn't been entirely focused on the giant, gleaming vehicle that Rick was walking slowly toward, his mouth agape.

"Glenn…?" Rick managed after a long pause, "What the _hell_?"

"Creative solutions for everyday problems, Rick!" Glenn called back, still grinning away. "You've got to admit, this will get us a lot farther than siphoning."

Rick tore his eyes away from the tanker long enough to shoot Glenn an incredulous look, but then his gaze crept right on back to the truck.

"How are we supposed to travel with that?" he asked, bewildered, "I mean…how did you even _get it_ _here_?"

"Maggie drove it," Glenn said proudly. "It was her idea."

"Damn straight!" Maggie piped up, smiling almost as broadly as Glenn. "It was a straight shot most of the way, and when we got to the big turn, Glenn rode ahead in the car and got Dad."

Rick turned from Glenn and Maggie to Hershel, his expression unchanged.

"I worked for a dairy farm when I was a young man, to save some money for school," Hershel explained, "The truck I drove back then wasn't much different than this one."

Daryl frowned. "Well, that's convenient and all, but you should know better n' anyone that those things run on diesel. It'll only get us a little further than what's left in its tank."

"We'll just have to take it as far as it'll go, I suppose, and then leave it when we have to," Hershel said, "It's something, at least. And if we end up settling somewhere not too far from it, we won't have to search for fuel for quite some time."

"Well, I guess I'm convinced," Rick said, shaking his head in amazement. "Y'all are really something else, you know that? Something else…"

While Rick was still marveling over the truck, Daryl parked his bike and started looking around the camp.

"Where're the others?" he asked after a quick glance around, "They ain't back yet?" It was getting late - almost sunset. The thought of Carol out on the road after dark didn't sit well with him, even if she was with T-Dog. For someone who wasn't supposed to be his responsibility, she sure wormed her way into his mind an awful lot.

"No," Glenn answered, his smile faltering a bit. "It might be taking them longer, if they couldn't find a vehicle. Pickings were pretty slim out there, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Hope they don't come back empty handed," Carl chimed in suddenly, running to greet his Dad. "I'm starving!"

"Carl, you need to be patient," Lori warned. "And don't be rude when they get here, either. Everyone's working as hard as they can."

"We passed a truckstop about three miles from here," Maggie volunteered, "it didn't have a generator, so we couldn't get the pumps working - I bet that's where they ended up. You want us to go looking for them?"

"If that car's gassed up, I'll go," Daryl offered, walking toward the Hyundai. Glenn pulled the keys from his pocket and tossed them to Daryl, who caught them easily. On his way past, he shot the boy an amused look.

"What?" Glenn asked, wary.

"Your old lady showed you up," Daryl taunted.

"You know, she grew up driving farm equipment," Glenn said defensively, "I'm from the city, what the hell do I know about driving a big rig?"

"Hey, whatever, man," Daryl said, but he smirked as he opened the driver's side door. He was just about to climb in when he heard the faint sound of a vehicle approaching; the others must have heard it, too, because they started grabbing their weapons. A few moments later, an unfamiliar black pickup truck pulled into their camp; as soon as it stopped, T-Dog and Carol hopped out.

"It's about time," Daryl chided, feigning annoyance at them. They hardly seemed to notice, though - T-Dog looked anxious, and Carol… Daryl frowned. Something was wrong.

"Looks like we're eating tonight, Carl" Rick said, clapping his boy on the shoulder. "What'd you two manage to scrounge up?"

"We'll have to deal with that later, Rick," T-Dog warned, shaking his head, "Right now we need to pull up stakes and get the hell out of here."

"What? What happened?" Rick asked, immediately on the defensive.

"We were at truckstop diner not far from here, gathering these supplies. We thought we were alone, but there was a man there - he must have been hiding out back, I…I should have done a more thorough sweep," T-Dog faltered, shamefaced. He shot a quick glance at Daryl before he reluctantly continued, "He attacked Carol. She had to…take him down. But Carol said he had a walkie-talkie, and was in contact with some people nearby; sounds a lot like that group of lowlifes Randall was running with."

Daryl felt like he'd been hit in the gut. He looked over at Rick, gauging the other man's reaction, then back at Carol. She wasn't adding anything to T-Dog's story; she didn't even seem to be reacting to it.

Rick's face paled, his mouth forming a hard line. "Alright, we can't stay here any longer, then. Let's get a move on, people. We need to gas up and get out!"

"Rick, where are we going?" demanded Lori, pulling him aside. "We can't keep running blind!"

"Daryl and I may have found something. I can't be sure yet, but it might be exactly what we're looking for. You just need to trust me right now," he pleaded, "Please, get Carl and get him in the car."

Lori gave Rick a doubtful look, but she did as she was asked.

Soon, every vehicle but the tanker was filled, and they were ready to go. Daryl wheeled his bike out in front, preparing to lead the convoy. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Carol. She was standing by the passenger side door of T-Dog's truck, not quite reaching for the handle. He saw her pause, and glance quickly in his direction, then back at the door handle. He pretended not to notice when she stole another look at him, but when she started reaching for the door handle in earnest, he called out, "Hey! You comin' or what?"

She jumped, startled, but didn't stand around waiting for a second invitation. She jogged over to him and climbed on the back of the bike, wrapping her arms around his waist. She held tighter than usual, hugging herself to him and resting the side of her head against his back. Her body was shaking.

"Hey…you alright?" he asked softly, "What happened back there?"

Carol was silent for a moment. When she finally spoke, it came out strangled.

"You were right," she said, "you don't have to be a marksman if your target's close enough to grab you."

Daryl felt an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. He kick started the bike, and it roared to life, ending the conversation.

Less than twenty minutes later, just as the sun was setting, they turned down a dirt road and arrived at the front gate of what looked like a run-down RV park. There was a heavy chain and padlock holding the gates closed, but the gates themselves looked rather flimsy. It would never stop a herd of walkers, but it might keep a few stragglers at bay. Rick got out of the car and walked toward the gate, pulling a key from his pocket. Lori followed after him.

"Rick, this isn't what you were talking about when you said you'd found a place, is it?" she asked dubiously.

"No, this is just where we set up camp for a few days. It's not a permanent solution, I know, but it's better than being out in the open."

"But you said you and Daryl found-"

"We did," Rick assured her, "Just give me a minute, Lori.." He unlocked the gate, and began waving the other cars through. Lori got back in on the driver's side and followed suit. Once they were all in, Rick locked the gate behind them.

There were less than a dozen RVs in the park. Most of the residents must have lit out as soon as the world had gone to shit. The few that remained were older models - long-timers that had been sitting so long that they couldn't make the trip.

"Like I was telling Lori," Rick began as soon as they were out of their vehicles, "this is just a temporary arrangement. Daryl and I passed by here earlier today, and we decided it would be a good place to stay while we try to figure out our next move."

"What _is_ our next move?" Lori asked, interrupting.

"I think it best if we discuss that tomorrow - we need to eat and rest, or we'll be too weak to do anything. Let's build a fire for tonight; the power hook-ups are off, but a few of the RVs have generators. Tomorrow we can see about getting them up and running, so we might actually be able to use the microwaves and refrigerators. Oh, and you'll be glad to know that the toilets are hooked up to septic tanks, so they're good to go, no pun intended."

"Are you sure it's safe here?" Beth asked quietly, clinging to her father.

"Safer than the road," Daryl answered. "We swept through here earlier, and only found four walkers all told. Three were in the office out front, and one was in that RV down the end - fyi, don't use that one."

"It's quiet here, and as long as we don't attract attention, the fence should keep them out. Still," Rick added, "We'll have someone on watch at all times."

There was a murmur of approval from the group, and Rick felt optimistic for the first time in days.

"Alright," he continued, "let's build a small fire, eat, and then everyone can pick out an RV they like."

"That actually sounds kinda fun," Carl said, brightening.

"Yeah, I thought you might like that part," Rick said with a gentle, weary smile. "Tell you what, as long as it meets with your mother's approval, why don't you be in charge of picking out ours?"

Carl beamed. "Really?"

"Yes sir," Rick said with a nod, then turning his attention back to the group as a whole, he continued. "Alright people, let's get started. The sooner we get going, the sooner we'll get to sleep in real beds."

No one argued with that.

Dinner was canned beef stew and saltines, but they sucked it down like it was ambrosia. Each of the RV's had their own set of flatware, they discovered, which was lucky, because it hadn't even occurred to Carol to take any from the diner. After dinner, they each grabbed one of the newly acquired flashlights and set about choosing their RVs. Glenn and Maggie chose one close to Hershel and Beth, with Rick, Lori and Carl across the way. In fact, while they had several to choose from, spread all about the park, they all chose to stay close together.

While the others were deciding where they would bunk down, Daryl volunteered for first watch and left them to it. He didn't really care where he ended up, it was all the same to him. What he really wanted was to be alone. He hadn't had a chance to talk to Carol about what had happened at the truckstop since his abortive attempt on the bike; they'd been so busy getting settled that there hadn't been a chance to get her alone. The not knowing was eating away at him, but finding out would mean talking to her, alone, and he wasn't so sure that he wanted any part of that, either. Taking first watch had bought him some time to figure things out.

But after only his first sweep of the perimeter, he found Rick sitting out in the dark, in a canvas camp chair, in front of the RV Carl and Lori had decided on. He shot Rick a questioning look, and Rick met it with a rueful smile.

"She, uh, she doesn't really want to be around me right now." Rick coughed, clearing his throat. "She needs some time to cool off, is all. I'll head in later, after she's asleep."

Daryl nodded, relieved that he didn't have to deal with that kind of shit.

"Why don't you get some rest, actually," Rick added a moment later, "I might as well take first watch, since I'm going to be up anyway."

"Oh," Daryl said lamely, "You sure?"

"Yeah, it's fine, really," Rick assured him. "She'll…she'll come around."

"Right…" Daryl said. That should have been the moment where he turned and left, but he now found himself in the awkward position of not knowing where to go; so much for having time to figure things out.

"You alright Daryl?" Rick asked. "Something on your mind?"

Daryl started. "Naw…uh, I'm just gonna… G'night," he said abruptly, and stalked off into the darkness.

_Great. Now what?_

He supposed it wasn't surprising when he found himself in front of Carol's RV a few moments later; he was kidding himself if he thought he was going to be able to sleep until they had it out. He stood there uncertainly for a full minute, trying to decide if he should knock first, or just go on in. She was especially jumpy tonight, and he didn't want to scare her, but at the same time, he didn't want to wake her if she was already sleeping. With a sigh, he finally decided to just go in, half hoping she would already be out cold, in spite of himself.

As quietly as he could, he crept into the RV. It was even darker inside, and he stood still, waiting for his eyes adjust before making his way in any further. Once he could roughly make out shapes, he slowly made his way over to the bed area, where he could hear her breathing softly. Before he really had time to think about what he was doing, he gently placed his crossbow on the floor and knelt down to untie his boots. When they were off, he shrugged out of his leather vest and laid it on the floor beside the bed. He'd spent a night or two on the floor of Dale's RV in the past, and it had been no worse than sleeping on the floor of his tent. For a few minutes he lay there silently in the dark, listening to her breathe and trying to guess if she was really awake or not; and if she was, what then? He'd almost made up his mind when he heard her call to him softly from the bed.

"Daryl?"

Daryl sighed deeply. They were going to have to talk. Resigning himself, he quietly answered,

"Yeah?"

But no amount of resignation could have prepared him for her response.

"Get up here."


	5. Chapter 5

Good lord, I'm glad I don't own these people! I need a nap…

Ember

Chapter 5 - Spark

Daryl froze, thinking he mustn't have heard right. Huddling together outside on the cold ground was one thing, but the RV kept most of the wind out, so she should have been plenty warm and comfortable in that little bed. Hell, she had pillows and everything.

When he didn't answer her right away, she called to him again.

"Daryl?"

He wasn't sure how to respond. On the one hand, he needed to know what had happened out at the truckstop that afternoon, and how much damage had been done. But on the other hand, what she was asking made him decidedly uncomfortable.

"You don't want me up there," he said at last, "I'm filthy. 'Sides, I'm fine down here."

He heard her make a small, choked sound, something between a cough and laughter.

"So? I'm filthy, too. We're all of us filthy."

Daryl considered this. "I stink, " he added.

"I bet you don't smell any worse than you did last night," she pointed out, "and I didn't find you offensive."

"Why do you want me up there so bad?" he asked a little too sharply, starting to get annoyed. He was pretty sure she'd gotten the hint, and was deliberately ignoring it.

She didn't speak for several minutes after that, and he quickly regretted having been so short with her. Things were not going as well as he'd hoped - though to be honest, he wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting. Patience was never something that had come easily to him - not with other people, anyway - but he wasn't going to find out anything if he couldn't get her to talk, so he was going to have to try a little harder. He was ready to apologize when she finally spoke again; her voice was thick, like she was on the verge of tears.

"Daryl, please?" she said softly, "Please stop arguing and come up here."

Undone by the threat of her crying, Daryl surrendered. Truth was, he was getting tired of being the bad guy, and no matter what he said or how he acted, at the heart of things, he really didn't want her to think of him that way.

"Fine," he said grudgingly, pulling himself off the floor. "Go on an' scoot over."

He could hear her rustling around in the dark as she pulled the blankets back, and made room for him on the bed. After some initial fumbling, he slid in next to her, underneath the covers. She placed a pillow behind him, and after punching it into shape once twice, he laid his head down.

"Are we, uh, doin' what we did last night?" he asked quietly, watching the dark outline of her body as she sat there above him, hugging her knees to her chest.

"If that's alright," she said, sniffling.

"It's fine," he said, trying to ignore the feeling of unease that had slithered its way into his stomach. How the hell was he supposed to say 'No' with her whimpering like that? She sounded so pitiful, and he wasn't heartless, goddamn it.

As soon as the words had left his mouth, she was stretching out beside him, sliding her body up against his to lay her head on his shoulder; only this time, when she rested her arm on his chest, he managed not to tense up. Maybe because he'd known what to expect, or maybe because, while it took some getting used to, bedding down with her wasn't entirely unpleasant. She was warm, and soft, and clearly a liar, because he could tell that she, at least, had washed up some. The skin of her arm was smooth to the touch, and she smelled like something flowery he couldn't place.

"You good?" he asked, adjusting the position of his head on the pillow. He could feel her nod against his shoulder.

"Who knows," he added, cracking a smile, "Maybe I won't wake up tomorrow feelin' like someone beat the shit outta me." He was only being playful, really trying to lighten her mood, but it seemed to trigger something in Carol, because she started to shake again, like she had earlier on the bike.

"Hey, easy now…" he said, instinctively pulling her closer. "It's alright, you're alright."

"No," she sobbed, covering her face with her hands, "I'm not alright. Not even a little bit."

Daryl sighed hard through his nose, and tightened his grip on the shaking woman in his arms.

"You gonna tell me what happened out there today?" he asked, not unkindly. She didn't answer for a long time, mostly because she seemed to be having a hard time composing herself, but he waited silently, trusting that she'd get there eventually.

"I…I killed a man," she managed to say once she could get the words out. "Not a walker, a human being. I killed a living person."

Daryl bit his lip, discouraged. He'd known, of course. She and T-Dog both had said as much when they'd arrived back at camp, and her behavior since then had been so off that he could tell she was pretty messed up about it. What he didn't understand was why?

"The way T-Dog tells it, it don't sound like you had much of a choice," he argued gently, trying to make her see reason.

"I was terrified," she said, almost as if she wasn't hearing him at all. "I had the gun, he saw that I had it, but he wouldn't _stop_, he just kept coming at me, and I thought…I thought, 'This is it. This is my punishment for praying for Ed's death. For losing Sophia.'"

"Hey now," Daryl protested, but she kept on.

"But then I thought about what they would do to T-Dog, and what would happen to you all back at camp if someone didn't…_stop it_, and I just…I couldn't let that happen. I… I couldn't fail you the way I failed my little girl." She whispered the last, barely able to finish before she broke down, burying her face in his chest.

"There ain't no reason to cry," Daryl said fervently, "That man woulda done a whole lot worse to you." He was half tempted to shake her, anything if it would snap her out of it. There was barely enough room in their lives for mourning the people they cared about; he'd be damned if he was going to let her waste her tears on some murderous, rapist fuck.

"I know," she gasped, furiously rubbing at her eyes, "And I guess that should make it easier, but it doesn't. Every time I close my eyes, I see what was left of that man's face. It was awful, Daryl. How am I supposed to sleep at night, with that ruined thing haunting me?"

"Same as with every other awful thing you've been through; you try to focus on somethin' else, maybe somethin' that makes you happy," he said. "You can't erase what happened, but you can try to move on. What's done is done, and there ain't no point in wondering what you could have done differently, because it won't make a bit of difference."

"You say that like it's easy," she laughed bitterly. "When Sophia died, at least I could take comfort in the fact that my baby was in heaven, and she didn't have to suffer in this nightmare anymore. But I'm having a hard time finding the comfort in this."

Daryl frowned. "You're _alive_, dummy."

"Yes, and I'm a murderer," she said angrily, but her anger dissolved an instant later in a torrent of fresh tears, "I'm a murderer, and now I don't think I'm ever gonna get to see Sophia again."

"You ain't a murdered," he said firmly. "Self-defense ain't murder. It's not like you went out this morning all fired up to kill a guy! For fucks sake, I had to _make you_ take the gun!" He was trying to comfort her, in his way, trying to absolve her, but she cringed from him, curling into herself protectively, and he suddenly realized that he'd been shouting again.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be hollerin' at you," he muttered.

"It's ok," she said unconvincingly, but he felt her relax a little bit against him.

"Listen," he began again, trying to stay calm, "I know it's not gonna be easy for you; I never said it would. I'm sure for a long time, it'll be damned near impossible. But I know you can get past this. You're gonna be just fine."

His words were met with silence at first, but then she said it, so soft it was almost a prayer:

"Sophia was gonna be just fine."

Daryl felt as if his insides were caving in.

"What was that?" he asked venomously, sitting up.

"Nothing," she said softly, edging away from him. "It was nothing."

"You throwin' that in my face?" he demanded, his voice raising again.

Carol glanced nervously at the door to the RV. "Daryl, please, you'll wake everyone," she pleaded.

"I did everything I could to find Sophia, you _know_ that!" he hissed at her furiously, trying for once not to yell. "And yeah, I failed, alright? I couldn't find your daughter. I promised you it would be fine, and it wasn't. I was wrong, and I'm not a fuckin' hero. That what you wanna hear?"

"No," she said miserably.

"Well, what the hell _do_ you want from me?" he spat.

She shook her head. "I don't know."

Daryl shook his head right back in disgust. He threw back the covers, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and groped around for his boots.

"What are you doing?" Carol demanded, hugging the blankets to her chest.

"What does it look like I'm doin'?" he asked, pulling a boot on.

"Don't go!" she pleaded, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged it off. "Yeah? Why the hell shouldn't I?"

"Because…I want you to stay. Please." She came up behind him, and probably against her better judgment, wrapped her arms around his chest, laying her head against his back. He tensed, prepared to wrench himself free, when she softly said, "Please stay. You were right about me, I'm afraid to be alone. Especially tonight."

Daryl paused, brought up short by the memory of the night after they'd buried Sophia. He'd tried pulling away from the group - moved his tent clear across the farm to be as far away from them as possible without leaving entirely - but she'd come running after him. So then he'd tried pushing her away, by saying the most hateful things he could think of, things he'd had no right to say at all, let alone to a woman who'd just lost her child. He'd been hurting, and he'd wanted to hurt her, too, but she'd stood her ground. She hadn't yelled. She hadn't run off and left him alone to wallow in his pain and self-loathing, even when he'd raised a fist at her. In fact, he'd said more than his share of shitty things to her over the last few weeks, and she'd taken it all in stride, without a single complaint. He'd thought at first that it was a sign of her weakness, that she'd allow herself to be bullied still after everything she'd been through, but he was beginning to see how wrong he'd been. Running out the door right then would be the easiest thing in the world to do; staying to help her pick up the pieces, not matter how ugly things got, that would take real strength.

Daryl took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, closing his eyes.

"I'm sorry for what I said," Carol whispered, hugging him tightly. "It was cruel, and I didn't mean it."

"It's…alright," he said quietly, rubbing his face with his hands, "I've said plenty of things to you that I ain't exactly proud of."

"Will you stay?" she asked in a small, hopeful voice.

He nodded, and made a soft, guttural sound of affirmation. He felt Carol take a deep, shuddering breath against his back, then release him. He pushed his boot off with his other foot and kicked it back onto the floor.

"I think that's enough talk," he said lying back down on the bed. "We should try to get some sleep now."

"I can try…" Carol said doubtfully, but she settled down beside him. After an awkward moment of rearranging the covers, they retreated to opposite ends of the small bed, lying with their backs to each other.

Neither of them wished the other goodnight, but he heard her say "Something that makes me happy…" softly under her breath as she pulled the blankets up to her chin.

_Yeah,_ he though to himself, following suit, _Good luck with that._

They lay there in silence for a long time afterward, listening to each other breathe. A part of him wanted to slip away, and was anxious for Rick to collect him for his turn on watch. After almost an hour, he'd still heard nothing from Rick or anyone else, but he thought Carol might have finally fallen asleep. It was getting late, and if he wasn't going to go back out, maybe he'd actually take his own advice and try to sleep some, but he was pretty sure that he wouldn't be able to get there unless she was already.

As if reading his mind, she said out of nowhere, breaking the stillness, "Daryl?"

Daryl grimaced. "You're still up?"

"Yes," she said, almost apologetically. "I've been lying here, trying to think of a way to…tell you something."

"We haven't talked enough?" he said, stifling a yawn. "Go to sleep."

"No, there's something I want to do," she said carefully, "Something I…guess I've been wanting to do for awhile now."

Daryl was suddenly overcome by a creeping sense of foreboding.

"What is it?" he asked suspiciously.

She lapsed into silence after that, and he thought maybe she'd changed her mind about telling him. Just as he was starting to lose his patience, however, she suddenly rolled onto her belly and leaned over him.

"What're you doin'?" he demanded, alarmed. He could barely make out her face in the utter darkness of the RV, but he could see the movement of her head turning away from him in what he could only assume was embarrassment.

"I…I want to kiss you." she whispered.

Daryl was floored. "What? Why?" he asked, glad that she couldn't see his face, either, because from the way it felt, he was pretty sure it was a whole lot darker than it had been a minute ago.

"I just…you've done so much for me, and…" she trailed off, obviously flustered.

Daryl's heart was hammering in his chest. This wasn't happening. She clearly wasn't thinking straight.

"You don't have to do that," he said gruffly, "I get that you're scared of bein' on your own, and I know I talk mean sometimes, but you gotta know that I'm gonna watch out for you, same as anybody. You don't have to…do_…_anything," he continued awkwardly, "I mean, you don't _owe_ me…anything. We're good."

Carol backed away from him, sitting up on her knees. He could see the shadowy shape of her head, cocked to one side.

"Wait, you think I'm…?" she asked, incredulously; possibly on the verge of getting angry, though he had a hard time telling without seeing her face. "Daryl," she said firmly, "that is _not_ what this is about."

"Well, hell, I don't know!" he answered defensively, pushing himself up on his elbows, "You got me comin' and goin' all the time, I never have any idea what's goin' on in your head."

Carol crossed her arms over her chest. He would have sworn he could feel her eyes burning twin holes into him.

"Oh for heaven's sake…" she muttered, "I _wanted_ to do it, for _me_. You know, I realized today that I haven't kissed a man but Ed in decades, and for most of that time, I didn't even _want _to kiss Ed, I did it because I had to. This time, I wanted to do something for me, something that _I_ wanted to do, for once in my miserable life. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've been able to want something? Anything? Yes, I'm alone, and yes, it's terrifying, but for the first time in a very long time, I'm free."

She sounded strange to him; he couldn't tell if she was about to start laughing or crying.

"And what I want to do right now," she concluded, "is kiss a man that I actually care for."

"Uh-huh," Daryl muttered, watching her as closely as if she were a rattlesnake. "And I don't get a say in this?"

"Well, of course you do," she said quietly after a few beats, "I guess I had just hoped…" She shook her head, casting her gaze downward. "I'm sorry, never mind. I don't know what I was thinking. Let's just go to sleep."

Daryl shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He couldn't simply let the matter drop - it was the first time he'd ever heard her talking about herself with any real strength or conviction; this wasn't just about a stupid kiss, she was finally beginning to think like a survivor. If he snuffed that tiny spark now, when she had so few reasons left to keep going, where would she end up?

"Suppose I let you," he offered, never looking directly at her, "What then?"

"I don't know," she said honestly, shaking her head. "Maybe nothing."

"Maybe nothin,'" he echoed softly.

It got very quiet then - the silence almost seemed to hum, or maybe that was the sound of his own blood pumping in his ears. The longer they sat, the more the darkness began to feel like a tangible, oppressive thing; a great pressure bearing down on him, making it hard to breathe or focus - like being held underwater. One moment, she was sitting across from him, half turned away, and in the next, she was there, inches from his face; so close that he could feel an uncomfortable tingling on the bridge of his nose. He'd barely realized that it was happening before she closed the few inches between them, and pressed her mouth against his.

She'd caught him unprepared, and he flinched back, breaking the brief moment of connection. Undeterred, Carol gently, but insistently, placed her hands on either side of his face, lightly cupping it. Her hands were warm, and the gesture itself was reassuring enough that when she leaned in again, he didn't move away.

The kiss was timid at first, but soon she relaxed into it, drawing it out soft and long. Her movements were slow and subtle, and he could feel all the little muscles of her mouth moving against his in a sweet, lazy rhythm. When they gasped for breath, she gently slid her tongue, soft and wet, into his mouth. He met it with his own, slowly, tentatively. As with most things, he didn't know what she expected from him, and the embarrassing truth was that he didn't have a whole lot of experience to draw from - nothing suited for a woman like Carol, at any rate - so he simply followed her lead, and hoped that she wouldn't judge him too harshly.

When she broke away a second later, he thought it had ended as quickly as it had begun, short and sweet, but before he knew what was happening, she was straddling his lap, her fingers twining through his hair. This time, her kiss was deep and hungry, which elicited a soft grunt of surprise from him as he did his best to keep up. He felt a warm, pleasant ache building in his nethers, and he could feel himself getting hard. She must have felt it, too - there was no way she could have missed it, sitting where she was - because she let out a soft moan, and ever so slightly moved her hips against him.

This time, Daryl pulled back from her, cursing softly.

"Maybe _nothin'_?" he gasped, holding her back.

"It's…been a few years," she admitted sheepishly.

They sat still for a moment, breathing quick and heavy in the dark, neither one certain of what would happen next. Daryl was painfully aware of her body on his lap, and it was all he could do not to press himself against her like some oversexed teenager. She wasn't making things any easier on him, either. With each labored breath, her body moved against his; almost imperceptibly, but he could feel every subtle, excruciating movement, and he was pretty sure that she knew it.

"Was that what you wanted?" he asked, trying to break through the thick, heavy tension that was building up between them. "You, uh…good now?"

Carol's breath came out in a rush that wasn't quite a laugh. "I think I'd forgotten that it doesn't quite work that way, does it?"

"I, uh…" Daryl began, but her hands had already crept around the back of his neck, and he could feel her leaning in again. This time he titled his head up to meet her half way, and his hands slid around her waist to rest against the small of her back. She was gently pulling his bottom lip into her mouth when they heard a soft knock on the RV door. A few seconds later, a voice called out, "Carol? Is Daryl in there with you?"

Daryl pulled back from her with a soft groan. "Glenn."

Carol sighed, resting her forehead against his. "Glenn," she agreed.

"I'd, uh…I'd better go see what he wants," he said lamely, removing his hands from her body. Carol quickly untangled herself from him, letting him up. With a grunt and a curse, he stumbled to the door, tripping over his boots along the way and cursing again, this time more loudly. He pulled the door open with a hard jerk, causing Glenn to jump back, startled.

"Oh, hey, good!" Glenn said, recovering quickly, "We weren't sure where you were. My shift's over, you're up."

Daryl stared at the boy, eyes narrowed. Truth be told, he wasn't sure if he wanted to thank him or beat the shit out of him.

"Alright, just, uh, give me a minute," he said finally, "I'll be right out."

"Sure," Glenn said awkwardly, trying to ignore the weird vibes Daryl was sending his way, "I'll, uh, I'll just wait here."

Turning around, Daryl walked back into the RV, letting the door swing closed behind him. He made his way over to the bed, more carefully this time, and sat down hard, making the mattress squeak in protest. Carol was laying with her back to him, facing the wall. The heavy tension that had filled the air only moments ago had quickly soured into an extremely awkward silence. Daryl put his boots on as quickly as he could, eager to escape.

As he was pulling on his leather vest, Carol rolled over to look at him.

"Be careful," she said softly.

"I will," he said, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder, "don't you worry about me. Try to get some sleep, you hear?"

"I will, don't you worry about me," she parroted back. It was dumb, but it struck him as funny, and he actually cracked a smile.

"Yeah…" he said, and not knowing what else to do, quickly followed with, "Well, uh, goodnight." Without another word, he turned and walked out the door.

.


	6. Chapter 6

I don't own, I rent.

Ember

Chapter 6 - Smoke signals

When Carol woke the next morning, the RV was bright and warm, sunlight pouring in through every window. The place looked very different in the daylight - friendlier, if a bit shabby - and she almost felt like she'd woken somewhere entirely new. Daryl hadn't come back after he'd left for his turn on watch. If she hadn't known better, she might have thought that last night had been nothing more than an extremely vivid dream - the whole experience _was_ rather surreal - but the muddy boot print he'd left on the carpet was evidence enough. Carol stared at it for a few minutes, feeling slightly annoyed, even though she knew that she shouldn't. It was pointless to get upset about messing up the place when they weren't even staying for very long. Still, more than anything else, it was the carelessness that bothered her.

Rolling over, she stretched her legs and arms out far as they would go, groaning softly at the snapping sounds her body seemed to produce more and more these days.

"Urgh, getting old sucks," she growled to no one. After a few more experimental stretches, she hoisted herself out of bed, yawning deeply as she padded across the floor in her bare feet to the kitchenette. She stood over the sink and tested the taps - nothing. Rick had mentioned that the toilets would work if water was poured into the bowl afterward, but they weren't in any position to waste water on a "luxury" like a sit-down toilet at the moment, so it looked like "working toilets" had been a bit of an overstatement on his part.

"Oh well," she said softly to herself. At least she had four walls and a bed.

'_And a table, and books,' _she thought to herself, looking around the room, '_and Backgammon. That's useful.'_

She wasn't sure if that was sarcasm or not. Despite the sunny interior of her room and the stroke of insanely good fortune they'd had in finding this place, Carol was feeling rather morose. She sat down at her tiny kitchen table, resting her head on the palm of one hand. If she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could still feel Daryl's hands moving lightly across her body, still taste the soft wetness of his mouth on her tongue.

Carol shivered, shifting anxiously in her seat. Last night, he'd let her pour her body over his, and had even responded to it, but what would any of that mean today?

She sighed, opening her eyes. She couldn't hide in here forever, much as she might like to. She'd have to go out there and see for herself.

By the time she got outside, she'd started to realize that it was a lot later than she'd initially thought it was. The others were all out already, cleaning up from breakfast. Carol walked over to the fire pit, where a few stragglers were still hanging about.

"Well, good morning, sleepy head," Lori called out, walking over to hand Carol a bowl full of instant oatmeal.

"I am _so_ _sorry_," Carol apologized, taking the bowl, "I can't believe I slept this late. I'll take care of breakfast tomorrow, I promise."

"It's no big deal," Lori said, smiling. "I was up at the crack of dawn anyhow. This little one is giving me heartburn something awful," she said, patting her still flat stomach. "Besides, I was anxious to get a look at those supplies you and T-Dog picked up yesterday."

Carol nodded, spooning the oatmeal into her mouth. It was disappointingly bland, like so much of what they ate these days. Still, yesterday morning there had been nothing at all. It was depressing, she realized, how easy it was to fall back into the habit of taking things for granted. She'd have to remember to make more of an effort to be appreciative of what little she had.

"It wasn't much, but I grabbed what I could," she told Lori between mouthfuls. "Now that we've got all this gas, we could make some more runs, see if we can find some better food, maybe some warmer clothes."

"Amen to that. I'm freezing," Lori complained, rubbing her slender arms. "Actually," she said, "Maggie, Glenn and T-Dog were just heading out on a supply run. T-Dog mentioned you, but Rick said that you might want to sit this one out, after yesterday."

It occurred to Carol that maybe she should protest decisions being made about her "for her own good." She didn't want to fall right back into the same trap she'd been living in with Ed (if you could call that living), not when she'd only just managed to escape. In this specific instance, however, she found that the only feeling she could muster about Rick's decision was gratitude. He was right, she wasn't ready to go back out there.

"Besides," Lori continued, "I was thinking maybe you and I could go through the rest of what you brought back yesterday and divvy some of it up. Then we could get Beth to help us go through each of the RV's, see what got left behind."

"Sounds like a plan," Carol said absently, only half listening as she looked around the camp. "Who's keeping watch?"

"Hershel and Rick," Lori said, pointing toward the front gate. "They're taking turns while they try to fix up some of those generators they were talking about yesterday."

"Where's Daryl?" Carol asked, trying her best to sound casual about it.

Lori looked away, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward into a strange, knowing smile that she was obviously trying to suppress. "He ran off before anyone else was up. Said he had some things he needed to take care of, and wasn't sure when he'd be back."

"I see…" Carol said quietly, staring intently down at her breakfast., "He didn't…eat anything?" It wasn't the question she'd wanted to ask, but the last thing she wanted to do was discuss Daryl with Lori. Whatever was going on between them was nobody's business but their own.

Lori shrugged. "He must've grabbed something. He was rooting around in those bags before he left."

Carol felt her face growing hot, seemingly out of nowhere. Why should it matter if Daryl had run off without a word? He was entitled to come and go as he pleased, and he frequently did. It didn't necessarily mean that she'd scared him off, that she'd done exactly what she'd been afraid she'd do and ruined things between them. Nevermind that she'd practically thrown herself at the man… Carol's eyes began to well up, quite beyond her control. She tried breathing slowly through her nose, willing the tears not to fall, but they spilled over just the same. She turned to hide her face, embarrassed, but her reaction didn't escape Lori's notice.

"Oh, honey…" Lori soothed, putting a comforting hand on Carol's shoulders, "it's alright. He's probably just going hunting, you know how he is. He's never gone for more than a day or so."

"No, I'm fine, it's not that! I just… I'm just tired," Carol lied, wiping the tears away. "Everything that's happened recently, it's just…a lot. To process. Really, I'm fine." She even attempted a feeble smile, feeling like the biggest fraud on the planet.

"Ok…" Lori said uncertainly, her eyes betraying her disbelief. "But you've barely touched your food. Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," Carol insisted, moving a few steps out of reach. She knew she being unreasonable,

but the feel of Lori's hands on her body was making her skin crawl; she was tired of the sympathy, of the patronizing, tired of being viewed as this weak, pathetic _thing_ to be pitied. And more than anything else, she was embarrassed. She didn't like that everyone in camp seemed to think that they knew her mind and motivations better than she did, and she especially didn't like that they seemed to keep getting it right. It made her feel like they were all having a big laugh at her expense: _Poor, lost little Carol, clinging to any man that'll have her. Treat her gently, or she might just snap._

"I guess I've just got a lot on my mind," she said quickly, "We should get started, I'd rather be keeping busy."

"Of course," Lori agreed, and mercifully let the matter drop.

It was decided that most of the food and supplies, being community property, should be kept in one of the empty RVs on the outer rim of their camp, one they could clear out and use entirely for storage. However, a few things were set aside for specific people. The men (and Lori), for example, had no use for tampons, so the boxes were divided equally between the three remaining women. Every household got a lighter, matches, candles, soap and band-aids for their own personal use. Everyone got a toothbrush.

They were getting toward the end of the bags when Lori discovered the bag full of condoms.

"Hm," Lori muttered, picking up one of the larger boxes and turning it over in her hands, "This would have been useful a few weeks ago."

"I'm…sorry," Carol said awkwardly. "I was thinking of Glenn and Maggie."

"Right, of course," Lori said, dropping the box back into the bag. "Tell you what, do you think you could run these over to their RV right now? I don't really want to have to explain these to Carl. Not today, at any rate."

Carol nodded, grateful for the excuse to get away for a few minutes. "Of course," she said.

It was only a few steps to Glenn & Maggie's RV. She knew they weren't in, but she knocked anyway, for propriety's sake. No one answered, of course, so after a second or two, she slipped inside. The interior was almost identical to that of the one she was staying it, though theirs was blue, and not beige. She deposited the bag onto their equally tiny kitchen table, and turned to leave, but she didn't get more than a few steps before she turned back around. On impulse, she reached into the bag and grabbed the box on top, quickly stuffing it in the front pocket of her hooded sweatshirt.

Before making her way back to Lori and the pile of bags, she took a quick detour to her own RV. Hurrying inside, she took the box of condoms out of her pocket and went to the bed, where, feeling slightly silly, she hid them under her pillow. She wasn't entirely sure what had possessed her to do any of it - she probably wouldn't need them, she thought glumly, and Glenn and Maggie most certainly would. Still, she'd wanted them just the same. She reached down, adjusting the pillow one last time, and headed back outside.

Glenn, Maggie and T-Dog returned early in the afternoon, bringing food, first aid supplies, warm clothing in a variety of sizes, and three five-gallon water cooler bottles. Carol and Lori had just finished cleaning out the empty RV that was to be their "supply closet," and Beth and Carl had started loading it up. When the truck pulled back into camp, they all dropped what they were doing and came out to greet it.

"You all have been busy!" Beth called happily, running up to hug her sister.

"You don't know the half of it," Maggie exclaimed. "The nearest town was a serious hike from here, and it was crawling with Walkers. We had to stick to edge of town, couldn't even get near the supermarket."

"Yeah, luckily there was a mom & pop in one of the quieter areas," Glenn explained. "That's where we got most of this stuff."

"Thank god," Lori said, smiling broadly, "Pass me one of those heavy sweaters, would you?" T-Dog tossed one down from the bed of the truck, and Lori pulled it over her head, making small, joyful noises.

"Here you go, Carl my man," T-Dog called, tossing a Frisbee to the boy. It bounced off Carl's fingertips and dropped to the ground in front of him.

"Looks like you need practice," Rick said warmly, coming up behind Carl to join the group, with Hershel in tow. He tousled the boy's hair affectionately.

"Maybe we could all play together later? After dinner?" Carl asked.

"Maybe," Rick said. "I promised your mother that we'd all sit down and have a talk after dinner tonight."

"Did you get any of those generators working?" Maggie asked, looking at her father.

"One of them," Hershel said. "We're going to hook it up to RV where the supplies are being kept - we can get the refrigerator and microwave up and running in that room within a few minutes, and then everyone can use them. We'll keep trying with the others, but they're old, and some of the parts are corroded."

"Well, it's better than nothing," Lori conceded. "And just in time, too. Carol and I were about to start dinner."

Carol stood away from the group, looking up at the fading light in the sky. It would be dark soon, and there'd been no sign of Daryl. There was no question that he could take care of himself, but she still would have felt better if she'd had some idea of what he was up to. She'd been distracted all day, unable to focus. Between shiver-inducing thoughts of the previous night, concern for his safety, anger, annoyance, and worrying about what she was going to say to him when she finally saw him again, she was a wreck.

She fretted all throughout dinner, making careless little mistakes while cooking, then barely eating a thing when it was ready. She kept looking out toward the front gate, waiting, her stomach in knots.

Daryl didn't get back until dinner was nearly over. As soon as she heard the roar of the motorcycle approaching, Carol's heart leapt, and she jumped up to start preparing a plate for him.

Rick ran out to unlock the gate, and a few minutes later, both men strolled back into camp, talking to one another in hushed tones.

When they reached the center of camp, they parted ways. Daryl let the crossbow drop from his shoulder, and placed it gently on the ground, having a seat on a log they'd pushed up to the fire pit. Carol walked over and handed him his plate.

"Thanks," he said quietly, taking it from her, "I'm starvin.'"

Carol nodded, taking a seat on the log beside him. "Where were you?" she whispered.

He turned his head to look at her, a funny, inscrutable look on his face. "I had some things I needed to take care of."

Carol swallowed, not daring to look at him directly, but she persisted. "You could have said something before you left. I was worried."

To her dismay, his expression changed into what she'd come to think of as "the Daryl face" - eyes narrowed, mouth slightly opened - the one he made when he either didn't know what the hell you were talking about, or thought you were being a complete idiot. Or both.

"_Why?_"

Carol blinked back at him, not sure whether to laugh or cry. "Nevermind, just eat your dinner."

"You ain't my mom," he muttered under his breath.

Carol uttered a short, sharp laugh. "Oh, believe me, I'm aware."

"Rick?" Lori spoke suddenly, loud enough to get everyone's attention. "We've been more than patient. Now that we're all together, will you please tell us where we go from here? What's this big, secret plan you've been keeping from us?"

"That's exactly what I was planning to do," Rick said, rising to his feet, "I was just waiting for Daryl to get back."

"Before you get started, Rick," Daryl said, "I just wanted to tell y'all that I did some scoutin' 'round here this mornin,' and there's a decent sized pond back behind this place, about five minutes walkin' distance. You might wanna boil any water you plan on drinkin' from it, just to be on the safe side, but other n' that, it seemed fine to me."

"Thank you, Daryl," Rick said nodding, "That's excellent news."

Daryl quietly turned back to his plate, shoveling rice and beans into his mouth.

"Alright," Rick began. "When Daryl and I came out here, we weren't looking for this place, we were just lucky enough to stumble onto it afterward. What we were looking for - what we found," he corrected himself, "was West Central Prison."

"A _prison?_" Lori interjected. "_That's _our new home? Are you kidding me? We're going to raise our children in a place full of criminals? "

"It ain't full of criminals," Daryl said calmly. "That's where I've been all day, scoping the place out. Looks to me like they let most of the populace out after everything went to shit."

"You know this for sure, or you're guessing?" Lori asked, "Did you go inside?"

"Nah, see, that's the problem - and also how I know they ain't in there," Daryl said, scratching the back of his neck. "The place is surrounded by Walkers in orange jumpsuits."

Lori's eyes widened, and she looked from Daryl to Rick.

"Just listen for a minute before you get all worked up," Rick insisted. "Yes, the place is surrounded by Walkers; I haven't quite figured out what we're going to do about that yet, which is why we're staying here for the time being. But believe me when I tell you, this place is _exactly_ what we need. We're talking guard towers, three rows of fences around the perimeter, razor wire at the top. It's fortified - we're not going to find anything safer. Its back is to a hill, and there's only one dirt road, leading in and out. There's got to be an armory inside, assuming it wasn't cleaned out, and a cafeteria, more rooms than we'd know what to do with, a gymnasium, a yard… Tell me this doesn't sound like an oasis in the desert. We _need_ this, Lori. Please see that. We need this."

Rick stopped then, staring intently at his wife. There were murmurs from the rest of the group, as well as several silently exchanged glances between them as he waited for her verdict. After a few moments this tense silence, a seemingly reluctant Lori nodded.

"We need to come up with a plan where we can take them out quietly from a distance, so we don't get swarmed," Glenn said, speaking up suddenly. "Either that, or we need to find some way to distract them, so we can sneak in there, because once we're inside, we can take them out one at a time, through the fence. We wouldn't even need to use the guns."

Rick nodded. "Yeah, that sounds about right. Daryl, tomorrow, why don't you take Glenn back there with you." He turned to look at Glenn. "You've always been good at getting in and out of tricky situations, maybe you'll see something we've missed."

Maggie shot Glenn a warning look, but Glenn shook his head at her, and said to Rick, "Happy to help."

"Don't worry, Daisy Duke," Daryl said to Maggie, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "I won't let nothin' happen to him."

"Great," Maggie said caustically, standing up. "Just great." She turned on her heels and stormed off to their RV. Glenn looked at the others apologetically, then followed after her.

The meeting pretty much dissolved after Glenn and Maggie left; there wasn't much left to discuss as a group, and people started breaking off to talk amongst themselves.

Carol stayed behind to clean up while the others wandered off. Lori offered to stay and help, but Carol assured her that it was the least she could do after sleeping through the breakfast chores. Soon, the only people left outside were herself, T-Dog, who was on watch, and Rick and Daryl, who were deep into a conversation she could only partially make out - surely something to do with the prison. She was deliberately trying not to eavesdrop, but every so often a word would caught her attention, and she found herself listening in spite of herself. After several minutes, the conversation seemed to be winding down, though, because she heard Daryl ask Rick about going on watch.

"Mind if I take tonight off?" she heard Daryl ask, sounding a bit haggard. "I haven't slept since the night before last, and I'm dead on my feet."

"Rough night last night?" Rick asked back, and Carol felt her cheeks start to burn with embarrassment. But not half so much as a moment later when Daryl responded:

"You could say that."

They got quiet for a moment, then Rick said, "It's fine by me. You've done plenty today already. But listen," he continued, "if we need to find you, where will you be?"

There was a pause. Carol waited, not daring to move or breathe. Then Daryl said, "We both know where I'll be. And I don't want to hear another thing about it."

"Fair enough," Rick said agreeably, but then a moment later, with mirth in his voice he added, "but try to actually get some sleep tonight."

Daryl turned and walked away, calling wearily over his shoulder, "I'm gonna let that one slide, 'cause I'm too tired to kick your ass."

"Uh-huh. 'Night, Daryl," Rick called back.

Carol watched Daryl walk right past her, across the camp, and then, to her amazement, right into her RV, letting the door swing shut behind him.

What had just happened?

She hurried with the rest of the cleaning, anxious to get back to her room. Right as she was putting the last pan back into the storage RV, Maggie walked up to her and shoved a small pile of clothing into her arms.

"Here, these are for you and Daryl," she said acerbically, "I had to guess at sizes, but most of this stuff's supposed to be oversized anyway. There's some sweaters for you, some heavier pants, new socks and underwear for the both of you, and these are some long-sleeved thermal shirts that looked to be about Daryl's size. Tell him I know it'll be hard, but try not to rip the sleeves off of 'em. Winter's coming." Without another word, she turned and strode off, clearly still upset.

Carol stood staring after the girl, speechless. It had been less than five minutes, did the whole camp already know where Daryl was sleeping? She looked around at the few people still milling about by the campfire. Maybe it was her imagination, but it almost seemed like they were trying their hardest not to look in her direction.

Carol turned and climbed the couple of stairs into the RV. It wasn't quite as dark as it had been last night, not yet, anyway, but she put the clothes aside and lit one of their candles. Daryl was in the bed, with his back to her. Where the blankets didn't cover, she could see that he was in his undershirt, a few deep, pale scars peeking out wherever skin was exposed.

Without a word, Carol quietly went into the bathroom, taking the clothing with her. She stripped down to nothing, and began to wash herself from head to toe with some baby wipes she had found underneath the bathroom sink just yesterday. When she was finished, and felt passably clean, she selected a pair of new, white panties, and pulled one of the larger thermal shirts Maggie had chosen for Daryl over her head. It was a soft, heather gray, and if felt like wearing a light blanket on her body. Coming out of the bathroom, she hesitated by the door for a moment, waiting to see if he would react; move, say something, give her any indication that he was aware of her presence. When nothing happened, she blew out the candle and climbed over him, into the bed. She lay down in front of him, facing the wall. She had just closed her eyes when she felt his arm slide around her middle. With a short, firm tug, he pulled her into him, until her back was resting flat against his chest. 'Like two spoons in a drawer,' as her mother would have said. After the initial shock, the first thing Carol noticed was the strong, clean smell of soap. She must have missed it when they were out by the fire - too much smoke and other scents mingling about - but in these close quarters, with her body held tight to his, she could smell nothing else. It suddenly dawned on her: the pond, his rooting around in the bags earlier that morning, why he hadn't looked quite right when he'd arrived back at camp.

"You've had a bath," she said quietly. Daryl shifted a bit behind her, but said nothing, so Carol persisted.

"That water must've been freezing," she said.

"Go to sleep," he growled softly, burying his face in the back of her neck.

Carol smiled and closed her eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer!

Ember

Chapter 7 - The Burning Dead

Daryl woke a little after sunrise, just as the sky was beginning to lighten. The room was dim and chilly, but the bed he'd shared with Carol was warm, and he was having a hard time coming up with a good enough reason to get out of it. From outside, he could hear the sounds of people starting to move about; the hollow _thonk_ of someone splitting logs somewhere across camp, and closer to the window, the light clatter of cookware being gathered for the morning meal. But it wasn't until a few minutes later, when he distinctly heard Glenn talking to Rick, that he knew that, like it or not, he was going to have to get up.

Daryl sat up slowly, carefully, tangled as he was in a mess of Carol and blankets. She was not a gentle sleeper, that one. Nightmares, he suspected, and not at all surprising, all things considered. He had plenty of his own, most nights. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat there for a moment, a corner of blanket still draped across his lap. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the heel of one hand, and scratched at his ribs with the other. He glanced around the room, then looked back over his shoulder at the woman sleeping behind him. She was flat on her belly, her arms hugging her pillow, and dead to the world. He considered letting her sleep, just slipping out quietly without waking her, but that had seemed to upset her yesterday, and he didn't feel like coming home later to another argument; not if something as simple as a quick nudge and a "see you later" would help him avoid it. He turned slightly toward her and reached out his hand, going in to give her a gentle shake, when he noticed something strange peeking out from underneath the corner of her pillow. He reached for that instead, removing it as gently as he could, to have a look-see.

It was a shiny blue box, a package marked, '_12 Premium Latex Condoms: Ultra-thin lubricated, for ultimate sensitivity.' _

Daryl's eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline.

_Well now. _

He shot the sleeping woman a sideways glance. He wasn't sure how to feel about this new information; it was going to take a little while to process. He turned to look at her for a minute, really taking her in. She was attractive enough, in her own way. A little unusual, sure, but he sort of liked that about her. If he had to pin it down, most of her appeal was in how she treated other people. She'd been kind to him, treated him like a person worth knowing, instead of someone barely tolerable. The way she'd seen him had changed how he saw himself, and eventually how the others saw him, too. For the first time in his life, he'd found himself a welcome presence, and not just as some redneck trash who would do the things the others didn't want to dirty their hands with, but an instrumental part of the group, Rick's second in command. He wasn't just accepted, he was trusted, counted on. Hell, maybe even liked.

He hated to admit it, but he was starting to think that Rick might have been on to something; Carol was a good woman. She cared for him, and going on the other night and the box he'd just found, her feelings for him were more than friendly. That had to be worth something. And besides all that…he liked her. He really did. She was easy to be around, didn't ask too much. She wasn't disgusted by his manners, and she was patient when he flew off the handle, which he knew was all too often. And sure, maybe she'd had a better upbringing, but when you got right down to it, the lady had just as many scars as he did; just most of hers were on the inside.

Daryl looked back down at the box in his hands. If they went down this path, there'd be no going back. Not without seriously fucking each other up. Right now, he wasn't beholden to anyone but himself, and he wasn't entirely sure anymore if that was a good or bad thing; but then, maybe he was fooling himself by thinking that he wasn't already up to his neck in it. Because here he was in her bed, and as of last night, they were apparently living together - and that had all been his doing. Maybe she knew him better than he knew himself. That thought didn't please him any.

For a few seconds, Daryl considered putting the box back under her pillow, and pretending that he'd never found it. He knew that ignoring the issue wouldn't make it go away, but it might buy him some more time to think things through. Then again, he was never a very good liar.

Frowning slightly, he lightly placed the box of condoms on the bedside counter. When she eventually noticed it there, she'd know that he'd found it. It was the easiest way he could think of acknowledging it without having to actually talk to her about it. Right now, he didn't even know how to begin that conversation.

A light knock at the door intruded on his thoughts, and he had to finally leave the bed to answer it. On the other side of the door, Lori stood waiting in an oversized sweater, her skinny arms hugging her body, a black knit skullcap pulled over her ears.

"Uh, Hi, Daryl," she began awkwardly, shifting her weight back and forth from one foot to the other. "Is Carol up? She told me to wake her if she wasn't up in time to help with breakfast."

Daryl nodded, biting his thumbnail. It was a reasonable question, but for some reason, whenever he was approached about Carol, he felt overly self-conscious, like they were all sizing him up. Rationally, he knew it didn't matter even if they were, but shit like that bugged the crap out of him, it always had. He found himself wishing for the umpteenth time that they would all just fuck off and mind their own business.

"Hold on, I'll go get her," he mumbled, stepping back inside and closing the door on Lori.

He walked back to the bed and sat down, reaching out to gently shake Carol awake.

"Hey," he said softly, "C'mon, it's time to get up."

She inhaled deeply, her body squirming on the bed as she made little groaning noises of displeasure.

"Hey, let's go," he said a little louder, his shaking getting more insistent by the moment. "Lori's outside waiting for you."

Carol stopped squirming and lifted her head off the pillow, blinking up at him.

"Hey," she cooed groggily, a smile spreading across her face, "Good morning."

"Mornin,'" he muttered, looking down at his hands. He was finding it difficult to look her in the eye, because his own kept straying over to the box on the counter. "Uh, hey, listen," he managed to say after a minute, "I think you're supposed to be outside makin' breakfast. Lori's here."

"Shit!" she gasped, then rolled over onto her back, chuckling to herself as she stretched. "Having a bed is amazing. I could stay here all day. I wish we didn't have to leave."

"Yeah, well, don't worry about that," Daryl said, leaning down to put on his boots, "If there's one thing a prison's got, it's plenty of beds."

Carol was quiet for a moment. He felt the tips of her fingers brush against the small of his back. "I almost forgot that you were going back there today," she said in a small voice.

"Don't worry," he said, rising to his feet, "I probably won't be gettin' too close today. Just takin' Glenn over to check it out."

"Still…" she said, sitting up.

Determined not to get into it with her, Daryl gestured toward the pile of clothes on the table.

"What're these?" he asked. He plucked at the soft fabric of one of the gray thermal shirts.

"Oh, some of those are for you. Maggie brought them," she said.

Daryl took a long look at the oversized shirt Carol was wearing, noticing how it matched the ones on the table, but he kept that to himself. Instead, he pulled off his dirty undershirt, dropped it on the floor, then grabbed one of the plastic packages off the table and proceeded to open it with his teeth. Within seconds, he was pulling a new, clean undershirt over his head. One of the gray thermals came next, followed by his angel wing vest.

"Maybe we can get you some new jeans soon, so I can wash those," Carol said, reaching out to poke at a spot on his knee where the fabric had almost completely worn through, "These look like they're nearly ready to stand up on their own."

Daryl grunted noncommittally. "I gotta go."

Carol nodded. Stepping out of the bed, she approached him cautiously, like she was expecting him to move away or flinch - which even he had to admit was not an unreasonable assumption. When he didn't, she slid her arms around his waist and gently hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Be careful today," she sighed against his neck.

"I will," he said, letting his hands settle on her hips. There was a tightness in his chest, and when she pulled back to release him, he realized that he wanted very much to kiss her.

'_And why the hell not?' _he thought, running his tongue over dry lips in anticipation,_ 'If you're gonna get your feet wet, might as well swim.'_

The moment passed an instant later, however, when she leaned up and kissed him on his cheek. He felt awkward suddenly, and pulled away from her.

"You better get dressed, Lori's probably worked herself up to a full-blown snit fit by now," he cautioned, grabbing his crossbow and heading for the door. Before ducking out, he paused, looking back at her standing there in nothing but her panties and his shirt. "I'll be back soon," he promised, meeting her gaze, then he left so she could change in privacy, and went to go find Rick and Glenn.

They decided to take the truck, rather than the motorcycle. As Glenn pointed out, this was meant to be a covert operation; slipping in and out of a walker-infested area required stealth, and the bike was loud as hell. Daryl still insisted on driving, but Glenn didn't argue with him; possibly because he had his hands full with Maggie. It was a loud, emotional goodbye, on display for the entire camp to see, and Glenn look alternately embarrassed and distraught as he tried to reassure her that he would make it back that night. On the other end of the commotion, Daryl spotted Carol watching him. She was hanging back quietly, and made no move toward him, but he could see the same look of fear and desperation in her eyes that was there in Maggie's. Looking back at her, Daryl felt a small tug in his chest, but they'd said all there was to say before they'd left the RV, so he simply nodded once to her, and she nodded back.

"C'mon," he said, clapping Glenn on the shoulder, "the sooner we get goin' the sooner we get back."

Maggie grabbed Glenn's face in her hands, kissing him on the mouth for all she was worth. Daryl looked away, uncomfortable. And maybe a little envious, though he'd deck anyone who'd suggest it.

"You'd better come back," Maggie said fiercely, still holding on to Glenn's face.

"Maggie…" Glenn sighed, "I'll be fine. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," she insisted.

"I won't," Glenn swore, "I mean, I'm not. I'll be back before dark. I mean it."

Assuaged a bit, Maggie turned to look pointedly at Daryl. "You keep him safe."

"Jesus!" Daryl complained loudly, throwing a hand in the air, "At this rate he'll die of old age before a walker gets him!"

Maggie made a face at Daryl. She quickly kissed Glenn again, then shoved him away from her. "Go on then, hurry up. And don't do anything stupid!"

Before she could change her mind, Glenn and Daryl climbed into the truck and started it up. Rick walked over to the driver's side window, just as Daryl was shifting out of park.

"You take it easy out there," he ordered. "Just scout and come back."

"We got it," Daryl said impatiently, "We've had it all morning. If y'all would let us go do it, we might get back before Christmas."

"Alright, then," Rick said good-naturedly, and pounded the side of the truck as a send-off. Daryl hit the gas before anyone else could object, and drove off through the gate.

They rode in silence until they were about a mile or so out from camp, when Glenn started trying to make conversation.

"So…" he said, followed by a long pause while he waited for Daryl to acknowledge him. When not so much as a peep came from Daryl's side of the truck, he launched right into it. "You and Carol, huh?"

Daryl turned his head slightly toward Glenn, shooting him a dirty look. "Yeah? What about it?" he demanded.

"Nothing, nothing," Glenn assured him, palms out defensively. "It's…it's good. I just thought, I don't know… You two are very different, I guess."

"So? You n' the farmer's daughter are like peas in a pod, that it?" Daryl gently scoffed.

"No…I see your point," Glenn conceded. "Still, I guess I always thought you'd be more interested in someone more like…well, _you_."

Daryl frowned, biting on the thumbnail of the arm resting on the window. His Dad had married a whole slew of women just like himself after his Ma had run off, and to say that it had always gone badly would be an understatement. Fuck oil and water, Daddy Dixon and his women had gone together like gasoline and fire, and caused about as much damage.

Daryl spit a chewed off thumbnail out the truck's window, then responded, "I guess _I_ always thought you had a brain in your head."

Glenn flinched. "Sorry! Jeez, touchy much? You know, you can dish it out, but you sure can't take it," he pointed out.

Daryl regarded Glenn levelly, from the corner of his eye. "I don't know what you think is gonna happen here," he said, "but we ain't about to have 'A moment,' so calm down."

That effectively marked the end of the small talk. They traveled the rest of the way to the prison in silence, until, without a word of warning, Daryl slowed down and stopped the truck.

"We walk from here," he said, opening the door and stepping out. Glenn joined him a moment later, wrinkling his nose.

"I smell burning," Glenn observed.

Daryl scowled, sniffing the air. "Yeah, I smell it, too. C'mon, the top of that hill over there is where we're goin' anyway, maybe up there we can see where the smoke is comin' from."

"Hold on," Glenn said. Going back into the truck, he pulled out Dale's binoculars and hung them around his neck. "Ok, I'm ready."

The climb only took a few minutes, and when they reached the top of the hill, the prison lay sprawled out beneath them. Glenn uttered a low whistle of appreciation.

"Wow. Would you look at that," he whispered, raising the binoculars up to his eyes.

Daryl, having been there several times before, was less impressed with the view, and more concerned with finding the source of the mysterious smoke. The smell was stronger up where they were, and he stood sniffing, trying to find its central location.

"Wait a minute," Glenn said suddenly, grabbing Daryl's attention, "I thought you said this place was surrounded by walkers?"

Daryl looked back at the prison, startled. "It _was_," he insisted, "And I'm talkin' only yesterday."

"Well, where are they now?" Glenn asked anxiously. "I don't see _any _down there. Either they're roaming around somewhere nearby, or…" He looked to Daryl for confirmation.

Daryl shook his head, a very concerned look on his face.

"Or this place has been cleared out," he agreed, finishing the thought. "Don't you recognize that smell by now, man? That's walkers burnin.'"

Glenn looked from the prison to Daryl, and back. "This is bad, isn't it?" he groaned softly.

"I don't know yet," Daryl said, scanning the area for signs of movement, any sign at all. "But yeah, probably."

Daryl was preparing himself to go in for a closer look, when suddenly he spotted four armed men walking out of the prison, into the yard.

Urgently whispering, "Get down," he grabbed Glenn and pulled him back behind the crest of the hill. Once it registered in his mind what was happening, Glenn dropped to the ground. Slowly and cautiously, they crawled on their bellies back to the top, staying hidden behind a thin copse of trees.

"Oh shit. Oh shit! It's those guys, isn't it?" Glenn asked frantically, "The ones Carol saw. Randal's gang. It's gotta be."

Daryl nodded grimly, his mouth a hard line. "I wouldn't doubt it. Look at the hardware on those boys. And if there are as many as thirty, like Randall said, and armed to the teeth like they are, they probably made quick work of the walkers that were down there."

"Oh man…" Glenn breathed, "What are we going to do now?"

As they lay there wondering, Daryl spotted some movement back at the main building. A large man walked out to join the others in the yard, and for a split second, Daryl's heart stopped.

"Gimme them things," he ordered, grabbing at the binoculars in Glenn's hands.

"What? What's going on?" Glenn asked, pulling the strap over his head so that Daryl wouldn't choke him out in the process.

Daryl was silent, focused intently on what he was seeing through the binoculars.

_No…It can't be. It fuckin' __**can't**__ be!_

"Shit," he breathed, shoving the binoculars back at Glenn, "Stay down and follow me, we need to get the hell outta here, now!"

Glenn clapped his mouth shut and followed Daryl's lead. They crawled partway back down the hill, until they were certain that they were out of view, then ran for the truck. When they reached it, Glenn, breathing hard, finally stopped to ask, "What's going on? What happened back there?"

Daryl shook his head violently, climbing into the truck and starting it before Glenn had even managed to get his door open.

"Daryl?" Glenn asked again, raising his voice over the noise of the truck speeding away, kicking up dust as they fled back to camp. "What did you see down there?"

Daryl shot Glenn a quick look, his face twisted in anger and confusion.

"That big fella that came out after the others," he barked, cutting the wheel as he made a hard left,

his knuckles white, "The one with the assault rifle. Did you see him?"

"Yeah…well, sort of," Glenn said uncertainly, "I was kind of distracted by you choking me."

"That big fella," Daryl repeated, and this time, his voice cracked. "It was _Merle_."


	8. Chapter 8

Attn: All characters slightly used.

Ember

Chapter 8 - Incendiary

When she heard the commotion near the front gate, her first panicked thought was that they'd been discovered - whether by a herd of walkers, or Randall's group of sadists, it made little difference, though she almost preferred the former - but when she heard Rick calling "What happened? Why are they back so soon?" she dropped her mending and ran toward it as fast as she could.

By the time she had the gate in view, the truck was inside, and Hershel was closing the padlock. Glenn and Daryl had both stepped out of the truck, and neither one appeared to be injured in any way; on her short run over, her mind had conjured up an image of Daryl as he'd looked the day Rick and Shane had dragged him back to the farmhouse, torn and bloody from falling on one of his own arrows, and a bullet that might have gone right through his head if Andrea had been a better shot. She was so relieved that she walked right over to him, arms outstretched, not caring what the others might have to say about it. But when she reached him, he pushed her aside and walked right past, hollering, "Don't touch me!" as he headed into camp. Carol watched him go, her heart lodged in her throat. Rick chased after him, and the shouting continued as they moved further away, but she'd stopped listening. She looked back at Glenn, who had quietly come up behind her.

"What happened?" she asked in a small voice. The world was going soft and blurry as her eyes welled up with tears. God, was she sick of crying.

Glenn seemed distraught. "When we got there, the prison had been cleared out and taken over by Randall's gang. Daryl said that the place had been surrounded by walkers, and they cleared them out in less than twenty-four hours. It's like it was nothing to them," he despaired, his voice tight and strained, "And now they have the prison. How are we supposed to get it back from people like that?"

"We can't," Carol said simply, looking off toward the center of camp, where Daryl and Rick were in the thick of it. A second later, they disappeared from view behind the line of RV's, but she could still hear Rick shouting for Daryl to calm down. "We'll have to find someplace else," she continued, "But please, that doesn't explain all of this. Why is he acting this way? What set him off?"

Glenn looked away, clearly uncomfortable. "Um…you remember Daryl's brother Merle?"

Carol nodded. You didn't soon forget a man like Merle Dixon. Big, mean, and volatile, Merle had made Ed look like a pussycat.

"Well, he was…with them," Glenn explained.

"Sweet Jesus," Carol breathed, her hand moving up to rest against the tiny gold cross around her neck. "I can't say I'm surprised, but…" she trailed off, her breath hitching in her chest. What was there to say?

"Listen…have you seen Maggie?" Glenn asked hesitantly, changing the subject. "I'd feel better if I found her before she hears all this ruckus and thinks I'm dead or something."

Carol nodded again, still fingering the chain at her throat. "She and Beth are down by the pond, doing the laundry. With any luck, she may not have heard any of this."

Glenn smiled grimly. "Thanks, but I think I'd better go find her anyway, just to be on the safe side."

"Of course," Carol said, smiling back weakly. "Good luck."

"Yeah… You, too. I think you're going to need it more than I will, actually," Glenn said apologetically.

She watched him go, breaking into a jog as he headed off in the direction of the pond. Carol envied the natural ease of Glenn and Maggie's relationship - young love in full bloom. Not two broken people, trying to cobble together some semblance of normalcy from the pieces of their shattered lives.

Shaking her head, Carol tried to clear those dark thoughts from her mind. She was being unfair, she knew. Glenn and Maggie had their own problems. Things were difficult all over; It was a difficult world.

Though almost every survivor's instinct she had told her to stay put, Carol forced herself to walk toward the commotion at the center of camp. Daryl was always quick to anger, but after the initial outburst, he usually ran off somewhere by himself, and she wanted to be there before that happened. It seemed like every time they took a step forward together, something came along that set them back. There had to be a way to prevent that from happening again; she'd have to be there for him, even if he tried to push her away. She'd never met a person more in need of love and understanding than Daryl Dixon, and the more he fought it off, the more obvious it was to everyone around him.

When she came around the line of RVs into the center of camp, she could see Rick, T-Dog and Hershel, but not Daryl. She must have missed him by seconds, because she'd just heard them arguing only moments before she'd rounded the corner.

"Where's Daryl?" she asked, searching the camp for a sign of him.

Rick gestured in the direction of pond. "He ran off that way, into the woods."

"Thank you," she said, and began heading off in that same direction.

"Carol!" Rick called after her sharply, "He just needs to cool off! Give the man some space."

Carol stopped at the edge of the tree line, and called back, "I'd appreciate it if you'd mind your own business, Rick. I'm sure you've got enough to worry about."

While Rick and the other men stood back, stunned into silence, she ducked beneath a low branch and slipped into the woods. She was counting on Daryl not having made it as far as the fence that bisected the woods, because she wasn't entirely sure she could make it to the other side by herself. Luck was with her, however, because she spotted him up ahead only a few seconds later.

"Daryl!" she called, running to catch up with him.

Daryl glanced back at her. His face was red with anger, and he roared back at her, "Quit followin' me!" She flinched at first - after years of abuse, she could barely help it - but once she composed herself, she quickly fell into step behind him.

"What're you, deaf?" he demanded, turning fast to bring her up short. "I said quit followin' me! Get outta here!"

"Daryl-" she began, but he cut her off.

"Damn it, why can't you ever just leave me alone? I said go!" He pointed back in the direction she'd just come from, waiting expectantly.

Carol shook her head. "No," she said simply.

Daryl's face scrunched up in furious disbelief. "No?"

"You can't keep doing this, Daryl," she said, her voice calm and steady. "You can't keep pushing us away."

"The hell I can't. Watch me!" he growled, turning his back to her and continuing on his way.

Carol rolled her eyes in exasperation and followed after him, practically on his heels.

"Now you're just being childish," she accused.

He turned back, pointing a finger in her face. "Fuck off, Carol! Who asked you anyway? Why don't you go back to camp with the rest of those rejects and leave me alone already?"

Carol stood her ground, her arms crossed over her chest. "You want to yell at me?" she said evenly, "That's fine. Go ahead and yell all you want, if it makes you feel better. When you're done, we can go back together."

Daryl scowled. "I ain't goin' back." He turned back and kept walking toward the fence.

"Then where _are_ you going?" Carol asked, not missing a beat as she followed right behind him.

He didn't bother to stop or look back this time, just called over his shoulder, "That don't concern you none."

"I just want to know where we're headed," she explained.

As she'd suspected, that got his attention. He came around fast, eyes flashing. "_We're_ not headed anywhere! There is no "_we_," do you understand me? Let that sink in a minute. You're goin' back to that camp, and I'm puttin' as much distance between myself and you people as I can."

"Daryl, don't do this," Carol said quietly, "You can't just go off on your own."

"No, _you_ can't!" Daryl snarled, "I've been doin' it my whole life. I don't need you people! Now get lost!"

A large part of her wanted to cringe from him, to run back to her RV and hide under the covers. But then they'd both be running away, and he'd be heading in the wrong direction.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, "Because your brother's teamed up with a bunch of murderers and rapists? How is that anyone's fault but Merle's?"

"Don't talk about my brother," Daryl warned in a low voice. "I shoulda been out lookin' for him all along, instead of wasting my time on you sorry lot."

"He may be family, but you don't owe him anything," Carol said bluntly, "He ran off and left you with us. You're not like him, Daryl. You have a place here. We may not be blood, but we could be family, if you'd let us."

"Would you stop trying to tell me who I am?" he hollered at her. "You don't know me! You don't know shit!"

"I know plenty!" she countered, "I know you're a good man who risked his life to find my daughter, who would have risked it again to save Andrea. You saved the life of the man who left your brother up on that roof, twice! I know you cared about Dale, and you care about Rick, and even though you may not want to admit it, you care about me, too!"

Daryl sneered. "What, because I gave you a flower and let you grind on me? That's a laugh. Don't tell me you were hearin' weddin' bells? What a pretty picture _we'd_ make, the hillbilly and the housewife - a match made in hell! Fuckin' perfect."

"I know what you're doing, and it won't work. You can't hurt me this time, Daryl," she said evenly, "and I'm not going back to camp without you."

"I don't think I've ever met a more stubborn pain in the ass in my whole life," he griped. "Can't you find somethin' else to worry about? Stop wasting your time."

Carol regarded him levelly. "You could never be a waste of my time."

Daryl blinked at her. He began to fidget uncomfortably, biting on his bottom lip. His anger may have been beginning to level off, but that was leaving an opportunity for the hurt to finally come creeping in.

He looked up at her, eyes burning. "You're wrong," he said. "I'm rotten inside. All the Dixons are. Me, my brother, my Daddy, all rotten, clean through."

Carol took a small step closer to him. "Nonsense. I don't believe that at all."

"No? Did you see Rick or Shane out in that barn, torturing people? You'd best stay away," he warned, backing up a few steps.

"Why?" she asked, taking another small step. "I already told you, you're not going to hurt me."

"I could," he insisted.

Carol slowly shook her head, not daring to blink for fear of breaking contact with those stormy blue eyes. "You won't."

Incredibly, Daryl was the first to flinch. He frowned, turning his face slightly away from her. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, "What do you want?"

Carol continued to inch forward. "You," she said, slowly closing the gap between them.

The genuine look of lost confusion on Daryl's face nearly broke her heart.

"_Why?_"

"Because I…I care about you," she said haltingly. "You're so much better than you think you are, and if it weren't for you, I wouldn't be standing here right now. You're the only person left in my life that really means anything to me, and after everything we've been through, if you are still going to insist on leaving, then I'm going with you. Because it's not a question of whether or not I can make it on my own - I don't want to make it without you."

Carol steeled herself. '_You have to say it, it's now or never.'_

"I love you, Daryl."

It did not have the desired effect. Daryl looked like he was ready to spit nails.

"You must be pretty damned desperate," he growled, "Sayin' a thing like that…"

Carol sighed. It wasn't the reaction she'd hoped for, but if she was going to be completely honest with herself, it was about what she had expected.

Daryl began pacing back and forth, like a caged animal. His raked a hand violently through his hair, then glared at her.

"Crazy bitch…" he muttered.

He turned and walked a few more steps toward the fence, before his legs buckled, and he sat down hard on the ground, putting his head between his knees.

Carol hurried over to him and knelt down beside him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He was shaking.

"I don't know what I'm 'sposed to do," he said quietly. His voice was slightly muffled, but it sounded as raw as an open wound. "He's my brother. I can't just…" he trailed off, at a loss.

"I know," she said softly, rubbing a cool hand on the back of his neck.

"He was always a big, mean, son of a bitch, but those people, the things they're doin'…" he looked up then, and she could see that his eyes were red and glistening. "Merle's a monster," he said firmly. "He's the only family I got left, and he's a fuckin' monster."

"You can't always chose your family," she whispered, brushing back the damp hair that was plastered to his forehead. "It's not your fault."

"It don't matter. I'm gonna have to stop him." He looked her in the eye, then, and the tears that had been threatening to spill ran over, leaving tracks down his face that he scrubbed at angrily with the back of his hand.

"You don't have to do that," Carol said, frowning.

Daryl cast her a sideways glance. "Yeah, I do."

"No, you don't!" she insisted, "We don't have to stay here. I mean, all of us. We have gas, we can move on, find somewhere else."

"So Merle and his gang can keep on killin' people?" he asked, getting his dander back up. "Keep on collectin' women so they can rape and brutalize them?" Daryl shook his head, scowling darkly. "That's _my_ brother. I can't just turn a blind eye."

Carol stared back at him, consumed by feelings of dread. They were on the precipice of something truly awful, and she had no idea how to stop it.

Somewhere close by, a twig snapped, bringing them back to their present reality. Daryl was on his feet in seconds, instantly alert.

"Let's go back to camp," Carol urged, looking around nervously, "We can figure this out with the others."

"I don't know…" Daryl said, frowning as he notched a bolt into his crossbow. "Rick may just want to cut our losses and move on. He's got a family to think about. And the others… Well, I don't want any of their blood on my hands."

"They have a stake in this, too - those men were going to kill T-Dog and…" she shuddered to remember. It made her scalp prickle, and a cold sweat bead on the back of her neck. "…and they took the prison right out from under us," she finished instead. "The least you can do is talk to them before you run off and start a war."

"I suppose you're right," he said, none too thrilled. "Well, c'mon, let's get you back to camp before they come tramplin' out here lookin' for ya."

'_Yes,' _thought Carol to herself, smiling ruefully, _'because __**I'm**__ the one they're concerned about.' _

The walk back was tense and silent, but mercifully short. They arrived back to find everyone gathered in the center of camp, around the fire pit, and it seemed like a serious discussion had been going on in their absence. Daryl exchanged an awkward nod with Rick as they joined the others around the pit.

"I'm sorry about…all that," he said quietly, almost mumbling. "I kinda lost my shit."

Rick nodded, hands at his hips. "That's alright. From what Glenn's been telling us, it's not surprising."

"I don't know what ya'll have been deciding," Daryl said carefully, "But I can't just let this one go. These people are a direct threat."

"No one's arguing that," Hershel said, speaking up. "The question is, what do we do about it?"

"I say we leave," Lori suggested, "Get as far from this place and these people as possible. They're better armed, they outnumber us three to one, and that's counting women and children on our end."

From outside their circle, a strong, familiar voice called out, "What've you got against women and children?"

There was barely enough time to for everyone to get to their feet before it's owner stepped out from behind the line of RVs and into the center of camp.

Carol screamed, and the entire camp descended into chaos.

Rick ran at the intruder, threw his arms around her, and lifted her off the ground.

Andrea laughed as he released her, only to be scooped up again an instant later by T-Dog. "Jeez, you guys," she scolded, smirking at them, "maybe I should die more often."


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: The views on Beefaroni, as expressed by Mr. Dixon, mirror the author's exactly.

Ember

Chapter 9 - Snap, crackle, pop

Daryl stood on the sidelines, tight-lipped, watching the happy reunion play out. He liked Andrea, and he was relieved that she was alive and well, but he simply didn't have it in him to join the celebration. Too much was happening all at once, and he was having a hard time coming to terms with any of it. He watched sullenly as Carol ran over to the woman and threw her arms around her, squealing with joy. He'd been screaming in her face not fifteen minutes ago - how was it so easy for her to let that shit go? Meanwhile, he felt like any second he might have to run off somewhere and puke his guts out.

When the ruckus began to die down, Andrea took the first moment she could get a word in edgewise to ask, "Where's Shane?"

Smiles faltered, and an uncomfortable silence settled over the group. When it seemed like no one was going to field that one, Daryl shook his head and said simply, "He didn't make it." There was no sense getting into the details. Not yet, anyhow.

Some of the wind had been knocked out of Andrea's sails, that was plain enough, but to her credit, she soldiered on. Ever the realist, her next question was, "Why isn't there anyone keeping watch? It should not have been that easy for me to get it here."

Rick shuffled his feet, ducking his head sheepishly. "There's a lot going on," was all he could offer by way of explanation.

"Yeah, I heard some of it," Andrea said, furrowing her eyebrows. "Sounds like I'm not the only missing person to show up today."

"Yes, ma'am," said T-Dog. "Merle Dixon's back, and he's running with a group of undesirables - heavily armed undesirables, who like to rape and murder. Dixon must be havin' himself a field day."

Daryl winced. The fact that it was true didn't make it any easier to hear. His reaction, silent as it was, did not go unnoticed - the moment the words had left T-Dog's mouth, they'd all turned to watch him. They'd probably expected to have to hold him back.

T-Dog had the decency, at least, to look embarrassed. He gestured at Daryl and said apologetically, "Uh… Sorry, man."

Daryl watched T-Dog from the corner of his eye, but he nodded, a slight tilt of the head in acknowledgement. T-Dog wasn't the enemy, Merle was. He needed to remember that.

"You're talking about Randall's group," Andrea said. It wasn't a question.

"We believe so," said Rick. "They've taken over a prison a ways from here, where we'd been planning to hole up permanently, but they've come out this way as well. Carol was attacked by one of their men a few days ago, while looking for supplies. No one has encountered them since - well apart from Daryl and Glenn spotting them at the prison - but it's only a matter of time before they stumble upon this place like we did."

"All the more reason to have someone watching front gate," a soft voice scolded from the shadows.

This voice was _not_ familiar, and seemed to have come out of nowhere. Daryl and Rick had their weapons drawn a split second later, as a hooded figure appeared from behind them, slipping silently into their midst.

"Who the fuck 're you?" Daryl demanded loudly, his crossbow trained on the intruder's head.

"That," Andrea said, her mouth spreading into a wide grin, "would be Michonne."

The stranger pulled back her hood to reveal a striking black woman with long dreadlocks, her face drawn, and hard as granite. She locked eyes with Daryl, and he felt a deep sense of unease settle in the pit of his stomach. There was something troubling about this woman, he could feel it in twisting in his guts. Something deeply wrong.

"Hey Andrea," Michonne said, her eyes still trained on his, unblinking, "Tell this 'good ol' boy' to stop pointing his pecker at my head."

"Daryl, she's alright," Andrea assured him, "When I was alone in the woods, fighting for my life, Michonne stepped in and saved me. We've been traveling together ever since, looking for all of you."

Reluctantly, Daryl lowered his weapon, but the woman kept right on eyeballing him.

"What?" he barked at her when she refused to look away.

"Nothing, tough guy, just sizing you up," she said with a grin that was almost a sneer, "You the one who wipes his ass with poison oak?"

Daryl cocked an eyebrow at Andrea. "We tellin' everybody about that now?"

Andrea grimaced, clearly trying not to laugh, and mouthed a silent, "Sorry!"

"I'd like to hear more about this," Glenn piped up, a lopsided grin on his face. Daryl shot him a withering look, and the grin quickly vanished.

"Can we get back on topic?" he asked, looking to Rick. "Not that I ain't glad you're alive, Blondie, but we got more pressin' concerns at the moment."

"Well, in that case, it might interest you to know that I grabbed the bag of guns before I left the farm," Andrea informed them.

"You got the guns?" Rick asked, incredulously.

"I did," Andrea said, a hint of pride in her voice. "Of course, I used up a lot of ammo trying to escape."

"Still," said Rick, "it's a start. We can start searching for more ammo immediately - we'll go out first thing tomorrow morning."

"Whoa!" Lori cried out, waving her arms in front of her, "Hold on, you're not all seriously suggesting that we're going to _fight_ these people? Are you all out of your minds?" she sputtered, "What happened to leaving?"

Rick sighed deeply, his face troubled. "Lori…" he said hesitantly, "I know it looks bad, but we _need_ that prison. Where are we going to find another chance like this? They've already cleared out the walkers-"

"Fuck the walkers, Rick!" she yelled, pointing a finger at his chest, "This is suicide!"

Daryl huffed through his nose and walked a few paces away. Rick and his wife were gearing up for another long one, it seemed, and he'd had enough of screaming for one day. Ironically, it was another scream that cut their argument short.

"Dad!" Carl screamed, running into their circle, "Dad! There's walkers at the gate!"

"Carl! What were you doing down there by yourself?" Lori scolded. "Are you _trying_ to get killed?"

"Mom, come on, yell at me later!" Carl begged, "You've got to come see this!"

Grabbing any weapon in sight, they ran down to the front gate together. There, just outside, stood two male walkers, in some of the worst shape they'd seen. They didn't have a single arm between the two of them, and somehow they'd lost their lower jaws. But what was most puzzling was that someone had chained them by their necks to the gate.

"What the hell is this?" T-Dog exclaimed, a look of horror on his face. The same look that was on all of their faces. All except Andrea and Michonne.

"They're mine," Michonne explained calmly. "I found that having them near me keeps the others away. Don't worry, they can't hurt you. I've seen to that."

"Where did they _come_ from?" Beth asked in a small, disgusted voice, wrinkling her nose at the smell wafting off them.

"Oh…" Michonne said dismissively, "That one on the left used to be my boyfriend. The other one was his best friend, Terry. We were trapped together when the plague first hit, and they ended up turning. I couldn't bring myself to kill them at the time, so…"

She trailed off, and seemed to finally notice that everyone was staring at her.

"What?"

"That's…very creative," Rick said diplomatically, "But I'm afraid I have to insist that if you want to stay here with us, they're gonna have to go."

"Oh. No problem," Michonne said flatly. Throwing her cloak to one side, she reached back behind her, pulling out a long katana from the scabbard strapped to her back. Without a moment's hesitation, she walked up to the gate, and one after the other, stabbed the walkers clean through their eye sockets.

Daryl couldn't decide if he was disgusted or impressed.

"Better?" she said, taking a cloth from her pocket and wiping the blade clean.

Rick swallowed hard. "I reckon so. Welcome to our camp, Michonne."

"So," Michonne said conversationally, "where were we?"

The planning went on late into the afternoon, getting quite heated at points. Most agreed that the prison was worth the risk, and needed to be reclaimed, though they were having a difficult time agreeing on the best way to go about it. Lori, Carol and Maggie were strongly opposed to any sort of confrontation at all, and wanted to run, but ever since that night on the highway, when Rick had stated that they were "no longer a democracy," dissenting opinions didn't carry much weight. It didn't seem to stop anyone from arguing, but ultimately it was a pointless pursuit. With daylight wasting, Maggie and Carol eventually left the conversation entirely to go make food for the group, and before too long, the discussion was put on hold so that everyone could sit down to eat. The recess didn't last long, however, and dinner conversation quickly devolved back into tactical planning.

"I like Daryl's plan," said Andrea, when she wasn't inhaling her food, "Smoke them out, then pick them off from a distance when they scatter. Oh my _god_ this is delicious…"

"Works with game," Daryl said simply. He took a bite of the canned pasta he'd been handed and made a face. "Yuck."

"You'll eat a raw squirrel, but you don't like Beefaroni?" Glenn asked in disbelief.

"I don't _like_ eatin' raw squirrel," Daryl groused. Carol silently walked over and took the bowl from his hands, replacing it with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that had been on its way to Carl. Daryl watched her walk away with his bowl, feeling like a complete shit heel.

On her way past Carl, she said softly, "I'll make you another one." and patted him on the head.

Daryl added another tick to the mental list of shit he was going to have to apologize for later.

"Game isn't heavily armed," T-Dog argued, bringing their attention back to the subject at hand. "Those bad boys have some serious artillery."

"If we do it in the middle of the night, most of them will probably be sleeping, don't you think?" Andrea said. "We could take them by surprise."

"How are we going to know for certain, though?" Glenn asked nervously, "I mean, for all we know, they go out raiding at night, or-or they stay up drinking, or they have fifteen guards! I mean, we know nothing about these people."

Things got quiet after that, and everyone seemed to be unusually preoccupied with their food. A few times, someone would begin to speak, but then seemed to think better of it, and went back to eating. Glenn was right, of course, and they knew it. It was in that moment, however, when the conversation dead-ended, that Daryl finally realized what was going to have to happen, the only way this plan could possibly work. He looked across the camp at Carol, sitting off by herself, quietly eating his leftovers. He didn't want to say anything just yet; not tonight, while he still had to try to make things right with her. It would keep until morning.

"Why don't we let it settle?" he said suddenly, looking pointedly at Rick. "Pick it up again in the morning. We keep goin' 'round in circles, and my brain's gettin' fuzzier by the minute. 'Sides, seems to me like we got some stories to hear." He gestured toward Andrea and Michonne, who were sitting next to each other on the log.

"Alright," Rick said reluctantly, but the heaviness of the day was plain in his voice. "First thing tomorrow."

With the planning put on hold, the group was able to relax for the first time in hours. Andrea and Michonne told them the story of how they met up, and everything that had transpired along their way to finding the rest of them. It was sort of amazing how quickly the two had bonded, but war breeds brothers, Daryl supposed; or in this case, sisters. What wasn't all that surprising to him was when they revealed that they'd both been lawyers back before the world had ended.

As if reading his mind, a smiling T-Dog lamented, "Look what the world has come to. Nothing left but cops, rednecks and lawyers."

"Didn't hear you complainin' when I was savin' your ass," Daryl muttered, poking at the fire with a stick.

"And who's better equipped to cut throats than a lawyer?" Michonne pointed out. Daryl couldn't quite tell by the deadpan way she'd delivered it, but he thought that might have been her way of telling a joke.

"And on that note, I think I might turn in," Hershel added, rising stiffly to his feet. "I will see you all in the morning, God willing."

Over the next hour, the others began to wander off, too, some alone, some in pairs, until Daryl was left sitting by himself. He was waiting for Carol to make her way over to her RV, so he could talk with her in private, but she'd been chatting it up with Andrea for over half an hour, possibly avoiding him. He'd fucked things up again - he wanted her to know that he was aware. It was dark now, and starting to get downright cold. He didn't much like the thought of going back to sleeping by himself.

When both women started heading off in the direction of Carol's RV together, he cursed under his breath. He needed to catch her before she went inside. Going around the long way, behind the other vehicles, he walked to the far side of her RV, away from the door, where he could wait for her to finish with Andrea. He stayed in the shadows, where he could wait unobserved. It wasn't his intention to spy on them, but then, he couldn't help having ears, could he?

"I've been meaning to tell you how sorry I am, for that last night on the farm," Carol was saying. "You saved my life, and I just ran off… If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have been left behind."

"Carol," Andrea scolded gently.

"I couldn't stop thinking about it, after you were gone," Carol added, her voice getting thick with emotion, "I can't believe you're standing here right now - it's a miracle. It truly is."

"Well, I don't know about that…" Andrea said delicately, "but Carol, listen; you shouldn't blame yourself. You weren't armed, there was nothing you could have done."

Carol nodded, wiping her cheek. "You're too good to me."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Andrea exclaimed in disbelief, "_You're_ too hard on yourself! Anyway, I hear you're armed now, so if we ever find ourselves surrounded again, I fully expect you to save my ass."

Carol laughed through her tears, leaning forward to hug the other woman.

"I'm so glad you came back to us," she breathed. Then, stepping back, she said, "You know, Daryl wanted to go back for you. The morning after the attack, we all met back at the highway, and when nobody was sure if you were dead of not, he volunteered. But Rick…"

Andrea held up a hand, cutting her off.

"Rick made the right call. By that point, I was long gone."

Daryl's ears had first pricked up at the sound of his name, and now he found himself wondering whether Andrea's loyalty to Rick would remain intact if she found out how and why Shane had died. It also occurred to him that no one had told her yet that they were all infected. It was a tough call. She was going to find out sooner or later, and either way might piss her off royally, which could jeopardize the plan. If he was certain of anything, it was that they needed Andrea's help. Plus, with Andrea came that other one, Michonne. She might be batshit crazy, but she seemed tough as nails and twice as smart. She could prove a real asset, provided she didn't kill them all in their sleep first.

'Sooner of later' didn't have to be tonight, however, and it didn't have to fall on him. Rick had made that mess, and he could clean it up himself.

"I just thought you should know," Carol insisted. "He may not have seemed all that happy to see you today, but when it counted, he would have been there for you. He just has a lot on his mind right now."

"You don't need to explain for him," Andrea said with a small smile. "That's just Daryl. Speaking of which…" she continued, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "Can I ask you something? What's been going on between the two of you?"

Carol looked away a little too quickly, and Daryl had to bite his tongue to keep from giving himself away.

"What do you mean?" Carol asked, playing innocent. She was worse at lying than he was.

"Well, word around camp is that our favorite redneck has been spending his evenings in your trailer. And Michonne said she saw you two in the woods earlier today…some "words" were exchanged." Andrea smiled, raising an eyebrow.

Carol looked up sharply then. "How much did she see?" she demanded.

"I'm guessing everything," Andrea said. "She's practically invisible, when she wants to be."

Carol got very quiet then. Daryl had to stop breathing to hear. "Please don't let Daryl know. He'd be upset."

Andrea mimed locking her lips. "Between us girls," she promised. "Provided you tell me what's going on, of course. So tell me, are you getting some hot, backwoods lovin,' Appalachian-style?"

"Oh my gosh…" Carol sat down on the stoop, burying her face in her hands. She sounded mortified.

"Oh, it's always you quiet ones, isn't it?" Andrea pressed harder. "Does he taste like squirrel?"

"Andrea!" Carol laughed out loud, her face turning beet red. "SHH! You're awful!"

"Hey, I'm just saying what we've all been thinking," Andrea chuckled, giving Carol a playful nudge. When the laughter tapered off, however, she suddenly got serious. "Really, though, are you guys ok?" she asked. "This whole thing with Merle…I can't even imagine what that must feel like."

Carol shook her head sadly. "He's messed up about it. I tried to be there for him, but you know Daryl…"

Andrea nodded. She knelt down, taking Carol's hands in her own. "I do. But you know something? Even though he needs to be put in the occasional choke hold, Daryl's a decent man. He's got a big heart, even if he tries to hide it from everyone. He may be a little rough around the edges, but he's a big step up from Ed Peletier."

Carol smiled, blushing. "You think I don't know that?" she said sweetly.

"You obviously do," Andrea said, putting an arm around her. "Not so sure he does."

"No," Carol said softly, "You're right about that."

"He'll come around," Andrea said reassuringly, gently squeezing Carol's shoulders. They sat there quietly for a moment, simply enjoying each other's company, until Andrea slowly rose to her feet and said, "Well, I'd better go. I have to go find my partner in crime, we're about to go on watch."

"Alright. I'm really glad we talked," Carol said, smiling up at her, "Goodnight, Andrea."

"Goodnight, my dear," Andrea said, then turned and walked down the length of the RV, right past where Daryl was skulking in the shadows.

"Goodnight, Daryl," she said as she walked past.

Daryl jumped, caught off guard, and half-stepped out of the shadows. He watched Andrea's retreating back for a split second, then turned around to find Carol staring right at him, her face a mask of surprise. They locked eyes for a moment, before she turned away, hurrying up the steps.

"Carol, wait," he called to her, "Hold up a sec."

"Good evening, Daryl" She said stiffly, refusing to make eye contact.

Daryl felt a fresh stab of guilt. "Don't be like that…" he chided softly.

"How'm I being?" she demanded, looking up at him finally.

"I don't know… Look, I'll be quick," he said, "I know I…" he cleared his throat, "I fucked things up again. It's been good between us, and you didn't do nothin' to deserve any of that shit I threw at you this afternoon. You deserve better. And I don't blame you if you want me to stay somewhere else. There's still a few empties lyin' about… I guess I'm just sayin' that if you want me to get lost, just say the word and I'll make myself scarce."

Carol stared at him for several moments, without saying a word. Her silent scrutiny made him feel overly exposed, like a bug under a magnifying glass. When she finally spoke, she said softly, "I was afraid you wouldn't come tonight…because of what I said."

Daryl was flooded with conflicting sensations; relief and anxiety, pleasure and fear. This might be their last night together for some time, maybe for good, if things went badly enough. He didn't know what he would have done with himself if she'd told him to go. He wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do with himself now, though he had some idea.

"Nah, I had to come back," he said, barely getting the words past his lips. "I, uh…I left something on the bedside counter."


	10. Chapter 10

**WARNING: NSFW. In other words, smut, smut, smut. If this in not your thing, feel free to skip this chapter and pretend it didn't happen. Or, conversely, if you're the type who skims through M rated fics just looking for the smut chapters, well my friend, look no further.**

"One must not put a loaded rifle on the stage if no one is thinking of firing it." - Anton Chekhov

Ember

Chapter 10 - Kiss the flame

She couldn't imagine what he might have left in the bedroom - he hardly owned a thing, and what little he had was either on his person, or in the saddle bags on his bike. Not that she was going to argue with him; If he needed a pretext to come inside, she was more than happy to grant him one. She lead him in, finding her way to the kitchenette by the soft glow of the disposable lighter she kept in her pocket. She took a couple of candles from the cabinet and lit them, leaving one on the table, and taking the other with her as she headed toward the bedroom. To her surprise, there really did appear to be something on the bedside counter.

"Is this what you're-" she began, then stopped, swallowing the end of her sentence. Slowly, she reached down to pick up the all too familiar box that had been left on the counter. She stared at it for a few seconds, hardly daring to breathe, then turned her head slightly to look back at Daryl. Without a word, she held the box up for him to see, her eyebrows drawn together in a look that was partly questioning, but mostly disbelief.

Daryl nodded, steadily holding her gaze. There was something foreign in his eyes, an intensity that was entirely different from the pain and anger that she had become familiar with.

"Oh," was all she managed to say, looking back down a the box in her hands.

"That alright?" Daryl asked softly, still hanging back by the bathroom door.

Her pulse was racing. She gently placed the box back on the bedside counter with the candle, then turned and sat down on the edge of the bed, her fingers tightly gripping the mattress. After a moment's pause, she looked up at him, and in a small voice said, "Yes."

Lifting the shoulder strap over his head, Daryl placed his crossbow on the kitchen table. She watched from the bed as he removed his boots, then draped his vest over one of the chairs. He looked over at her, and she had to force herself not to look away in nervous embarrassment. With his eyes still locked on hers, he pulled his shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor. He was left standing in his undershirt and jeans, nothing she hadn't seen a dozen times before, but at that moment, it felt very different. Usually when Daryl undressed, it was a careless, utilitarian act, simple and meaningless. This was not like those other times. This felt…deliberate.

"Should I put the light out?" she asked suddenly, trying not to sound as nervous as she felt.

Daryl titled his head to one side. "We won't be able to see anything," he said, frowning slightly.

"I don't know," she said a little too quickly, feeling herself getting flustered. "I just thought - well, Ed never wanted the light on. I'm not much to look at, you know," she added, looking down at her hands. "Having Sophia, plus I'm well into my forties now… Seems like nothing's where it's supposed to be anymore…"

Daryl made a quiet noise of derision. "I'm willin' to bet you're a damn sight prettier n' me," he said with a pained half-smile. He pulled off his undershirt then, revealing the mass of overlapping scar tissue that spanned his entire torso. She'd seen his scars before, of course, but only at a glance, and he'd never called attention to them. "Some of these get uglier the further down you go," he said, pointing out a particularly deep gouge that began right below his navel, and ran down, disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants.

"Oh, Daryl," she breathed, taking them in.

"What'd I tell you?" he asked quietly, "No competition. Less you're hidin' a tail or somethin' under there."

Carol found herself smiling in spite of her anxiousness, and the disturbing reminder of Daryl's abusive past.

"No, not last time I checked," she assured him.

"Well then, tell you what," he said, thumbing open the button on his pants, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours. Sound fair?"

Not completely trusting her own tongue, Carol simply nodded. With trembling fingers, she began to open the buttons on her blouse. When that, too, seemed to be proving difficult, Daryl walked over to the bed and began to unbutton it for her.

While his fingers deftly made their way down the fabric of her blouse, Carol took a moment to give him a good, hard look. After weeks of false starts and near misses, all the uncertainty and recovering of lost ground, she couldn't help but find something slightly troubling about this sudden urgency and determination on his part. He didn't seem entirely like himself, and with everything that had happened that day, it had her worried.

"Daryl…" she said hesitantly, "I don't want you to think that I'm complaining, but where's all of this coming from?"

"I'm feelin' motivated," was all he said.

His answer did nothing to alleviate her concerns, but she was afraid if she pressed the issue, he might stop taking off her clothing. It was becoming increasingly difficult to think straight.

Without another word, Daryl opened the last button, and the top slid from her shoulders, down her back. He took a step back to admire his handiwork, but this left Carol feeling exposed suddenly, and she reached up her bare arms to cover her chest.

"You weren't this bashful the other night," Daryl chided softly.

"That was different," she said, her eyes fixed on the wall. "It was dark, and I wasn't sitting here naked in front of you."

"You know, sometimes you don't make a lick of sense," he said, reaching over to slide one of her bra straps off of her shoulder. "Most of the time, actually."

"Well what about you?" she demanded, "The other night I had to practically climb on top of you-"

"You did climb on top of me," he reminded her, slipping the strap off of her other shoulder.

"Right. And now…and now…" the words dried up in her mouth. Standing above her as he was, the fly of his jeans was nearly level with her face, and he was unzipping it.

"I told you," he said, "I'm feelin' motivated. Shit's about to get real dangerous around here, real quick. We both know that."

Carol nodded, looking up the length of his body to meet his eyes.

"So why do we keep wastin' time?" he asked her.

Carol hugged her own shoulders. "I just want to be sure…that we're not doing this for the wrong reasons," she said.

Daryl raised an eyebrow, and shook his head in disbelief, "Good lord," he muttered, "I thought this was what you wanted. I didn't bring that box of rubbers in here, and I sure as hell wasn't the one climbin' on top of people… Sayin' that shit in the woods…"

"I meant what I said in the woods," Carol insisted, "Every word of it."

"Well then what the hell IS this?" he demanded. "I'm trying here, lady, but you're making this shit real difficult. Wrong reasons, right reasons…? What're the wrong reasons for fuckin,' Carol? Tell me."

"Anger," she said simply. "Obligation. I don't want to do this if the only reason _you_ want to is because you think it'll appease me somehow, or you're looking to bury your feelings about Merle."

"Woman, you really know how to kill a hard-on," Daryl muttered darkly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Please stop talkin.'"

Carol's heart sank. "I'm sorry, I just… _I love you_. And I don't want to be…_used_ like that."

"Why you always gotta assume the worst?" he asked.

Carol shrugged sadly. "When has anyone ever given me a reason not to?"

Daryl laced his fingers behind his head and looked up at the ceiling. "Did it ever occur to you," he began slowly, obviously struggling to remain patient, "that if I didn't give a shit, I wouldn't be standin' here talkin' about this with you? This part ain't exactly my idea of a good time."

Carol felt a small stab of guilt. It hadn't occurred to her, actually, but as soon as he'd said it, she knew it was true. She'd been so focused on everything bad that was happening that she was letting the good slip right through her fingers.

"What…about the other part?" she asked haltingly.

Daryl glanced over at her, mistrustful. "How's that?"

"Was that your idea of a good time? Before?" she asked, a small, shy smile gracing her features.

The corner of Daryl's mouth twitched, like he was trying hard not to smirk. "I _think_ I was enjoyin' myself," he said brusquely, "Though it's hard to say, we didn't really get nowhere."

"Is it too late to pick up where we left off?" She asked, reaching behind her back to unhook her bra.

Daryl shook his head, watching her small movements intently . "I don't think so."

Carol pulled the garment off and laid it on the bed beside her. She still wasn't feeling entirely comfortable with herself, but rather than trying to cover up, she rose to her feet and moved up close to him, nearly pressing her bare chest against his. It was a much nicer position to be in, and she didn't feel like she was on display.

"That's a relief," she said softly, breathing into his neck. She rested the palm of her hand flat against the warm, firm skin of his chest, and slid it slowly downward until her fingers reached the deep scar just below his navel. She traced it with her fingertip, all the way down until it reached the soft elastic band of his undershorts. Her hand slipped inside easily, and within seconds, her fingers found the growing hardness there. She wrapped her fingers around it, squeezing gently. Daryl inhaled sharply, hissing in her ear.

"Easy, now," he breathed, pushing his hips forward to press his need against the palm of her hand.

Slowly, gently, she began to move her fingers up and down his length, savoring the feel of skin moving against the hard muscle beneath. His breath started coming heavy and ragged, and when she ran her thumb across the tip, she was rewarded with a low moan.

"You're beautiful," she whispered, resting her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder "scars and all."

"You ain't so bad yourself," he grunted softly through clenched teeth. "Better slow down, though."

Carol felt his fingers on the back of her head, and she instinctively looked up, breaking her easy rhythm. As she withdrew, he placed his other hand beneath her chin and tilted her head back, pulling her mouth up to meet his. Their first kiss, those few nights before, had been tentative and slow, gentle. This time could not have been more different. There was no sweetness, no shy, awkward fumbling or uncertainty, only heat and hunger, a desperate need to devour one another.

Her own voraciousness surprised her; when she leaned hard into him, he actually stumbled back a few steps, bumping his hip against the table. The candle was knocked over, and the flame instantly snuffed by the pool of melted wax that ran over the edge of the table and onto the carpet.

Daryl pulled away, looking back over his shoulder at the minor catastrophe. "Shit," he said mildly.

"It's fine, forget about it," she urged. Grabbing him by the waistband of his jeans, she pulled him to the bed. He didn't need further prompting; she'd barely lain down before he was on top of her, kissing her mouth, gently biting her chin, then burying his face into her neck and tasting her skin with the tip of his tongue. He licked and nipped his way across her collarbone, down to her small, pert breasts. He paused a moment to meet her gaze, as though making sure that she was watching, then took her nipple into his mouth. Carol gasped, and he slowed, rolling his tongue around her nipple until she arched her back and began to moan.

She felt his mouth pull away, and when she opened her eyes, he was staring at her intently, presumably watching her reaction to what he'd been doing.

"You like that?" he asked, confirming her suspicions.

"Yes, don't stop!" she cried in protest. Daryl made a face.

"Bossy," he huffed, teasing, but a second later he did as he was told, and returned his attention to her, caressing one of her nipples with his tongue, while gently rubbing his thumb over the other.

_Bossy?_ Carol had surprised herself again. But what was even more surprising was Daryl's reaction to her outburst - ordinarily he didn't like being bossed around, not even a little bit. This was…new. She reached down, threading her fingers through his hair, and gave an experimental tug. Daryl growled appreciatively, so she pulled again, a little harder.

He pulled away with a snarl, and came back up, kissing her hard on the mouth. Carol's fingers flew down to the button on her pants, and when he realized what she was trying to do, he sat back on his heels and helped her slide them off, taking her panties with them. His own pants followed directly after, joining hers in a tangled heap on the floor. Now he was naked, kneeling in front of her, and for the first time, she could see what she'd only ever felt before, when it had been pressed against her body, hard and insistent. Seeing his obvious arousal sent an electric shiver of lust throughout her entire body, from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes.

Daryl moved himself back to her, nudging her legs apart with his knee, and settled himself between her thighs. He began kissing her again, a bit rough and overzealous, but his coarse eagerness excited her, and it wasn't long before her desire for him began to overwhelm her - she wanted more, everything, every part of him. She could feel his arousal pressing hard against her inner thigh, and she couldn't wait any longer. Never breaking the kiss, Carol's hand groped blindly at the counter beside the bed, until her fingers closed around the box of condoms. Pulling away from his mouth with a gasp, she pushed him back from her, pressing the box against his chest.

Daryl nodded mutely, his mouth open and breathing heavy. He took the box from her and sat back on his knees again, tearing it open haphazardly, letting the pieces fall where they may. He quickly separated one of the tiny blue packets from the rest, and then, just as she'd imagined when she'd first found the box, he tore the packet open with his teeth, spitting the ripped edge off the edge of the bed. Carol's breath hitched in her chest as she felt a sudden rush of lust. Her heart sped up as she watched him roll it on - her body was practically quivering in anticipation. When he positioned himself over her again, she answered his searching look with an emphatic nod of her head; _Yes, now, please! _She'd never been more ready in her life. When he pushed inside of her, she had to bite back a scream.

His stroke was a little awkward at first, erratic - it was becoming clear to her that he was not the most experienced lover - but what he lacked in finesses he made up for in enthusiasm, and if she'd had to choose between the two, she honestly preferred the latter. It made her feel exciting and desirable, and the head rush only served to further fuel her hunger.

"Slowly," she gasped, lifting her hips off the bed to meet his strokes, coaxing him into the rhythm that she desired. Luckily, Daryl proved a fast learner; following her lead, he slowed his pace, and began to move more fluidly. "Yes, just like that," she purred encouragingly, smiling blissfully up at him. With a self-satisfied grin, Daryl began to pick up the pace.

Within moments, Carol's breath was coming out in short, high-pitched little cries. It had never been like this with Ed, not even in the earliest days of their marriage. She'd almost forgotten that she was capable of feeling things with such intensity. She grabbed on to Daryl's hips, her fingers digging into his soft flesh, urging him in deeper. Daryl obliged, a small noise that was halfway between a grunt and a whine escaping his throat as he thrust harder into her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, holding his body as tightly to her own as she possibly could. Letting her hand drift up to cup the back of his head, she turned her face into his neck, layering kisses all the way up to his jaw line. Daryl let his head drop against her shoulder, releasing a deep, guttural groan. His thrusts began to slow.

"Fuck," he groaned, then turned his head to breathe apologetically against her neck, "I need a minute."

Pulling out, he rested on top of her, breathing heavily. Carol rubbed the back of his head, nuzzling the side of her face against his. Having sex with this man was an amazing thing in and of itself, but being able to openly express her affection in this way was more than she'd ever hoped for. In his lust drunk state, Daryl seemed much more receptive to it - he hadn't flinched from her once since they'd started - and she was determined to make the most of the opportunity. They lay there quietly for a few minutes, lost in the quiet rhythm of their breathing, when, without warning, Daryl tucked an arm underneath her and rolled to his back, pulling her on top of him.

Carol yelped in surprise, sitting up fast. He snorted, clearly amused at her discomposure, and bit his bottom lip, a wicked gleam in his eye. She sat there awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what to do. She knew what he wanted, but this was out of her realm of experience. With Ed, it had always been the same - he'd climb on top of her, give a few quick thrusts, grunt once or twice, and it was over. Before Ed, she'd been so young and naive that the few times she'd been with men, she hadn't thought to experiment with positions.

Daryl gave her a light swat on the behind, and she startled, coming back out of her head. He raised his eyebrows at her and tilted his head, as if to say, _'Well? Get on with it.'_

Carol was blushing furiously, but she decided, '_To hell with it_;' she'd already wasted too many years of her life on repression. Trying to ignore how self-conscious she was feeling, she took him in her hand and eased him inside of her. Daryl closed his eyes, breathing deep as she began to slowly rock her hips, grinding against him, her palms pressed flat against his stomach. His fingers dug into her thighs, but by then she scarcely noticed - being on top of him felt incredible. He was hitting her in places that she'd never felt before, and for the first time she could ever remember during sex, she was beginning to feel the stirrings of an orgasm. She'd rarely had one without the aid of her vibrator, and never during sex - ever. But the harder she moved against his pelvis, the more it seemed a very real possibility.

Daryl was gripping her almost cruelly now, and no longer content to let her ride him, was thrusting up into her, an almost pained expression on his face. The harder he thrust, the louder she began to cry out, and soon he was cursing a blue streak, obscenity pouring out of him, between the grunting and panting that grew more ragged with every jerk of his hips. She suspected that he was getting close to his tipping point, and hoped that he could manage to hold off for just a little while longer. She was so close, all she needed was a little push…

She snaked a hand down her body, finding the seat of her desire with her fingertips. A few strokes was all it would take, but when Daryl saw what she was doing, he moaned a strangled, "Oh fuckin' hell," and started to pick up speed.

"Wait, not yet," she gasped, "I'm almost there."

He groaned in frustration, biting down hard on his bottom lip, but held back. It was all the time she needed - a second later, her pleasure reached it's peak, and she found her release, crying out his name as waves of ecstasy rippled through her body.

Before her mewling had even subsided, Daryl flipped her onto her back and let loose, thrusting hard, assaulting her. She writhed beneath him, still riding out the last lingering waves of her orgasm, and the sound her plaintive little whimpers seemed to push him over the edge. She felt his body tense all around her, and he buried his face in her neck, a low groan wrenching out from deep within his chest as his thrusts became jerky and sporadic, then finally came to a stop.

He lay on top of her for a good while, catching his breath. When he eventually lifted his forehead off of her shoulder to look at her, there was an exhausted half-grin on his face. Carol smiled back at him, and lifted her head to kiss him lightly on the mouth. Daryl made a soft grunting noise of contentment. When their lips parted, he rolled off of her, sighing loudly as his body hit the mattress. Carol sidled up next to him, wrapping herself around him in post-coital bliss. Seconds before she sank into dreamless oblivion, she said a silent prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening, for allowing her this one small, perfect moment of happiness.

For all she knew, there might never be another.

iii

From atop their RV, Andrea and Michonne sat back to back, watching either end of the camp.

"How long has it been?" Michonne asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

"Maybe two hours," Andrea said, stifling a yawn. "Certainly less than three."

Michonne stretched her arms over her head, grimacing as her back made a satisfying pop. "Feels long enough to me," she said. "Should we go wake Uncle Kracker and tell him it's his turn to keep watch?"

Andrea chuckled. "Nah, not tonight. They just put their light out, and I know you've been hearing the same things I have," she said, giving Michonne a sly look. "No, let's go bother Rick instead, I suspect that's one RV that has not been a-rockin.'"

"Well then shit, girl, let's go a-knockin,'" Michonne said wearily. "Some of us need our beauty sleep."

"Right, so we can better kill monsters," Andrea agreed, climbing down the ladder.

"You know it." Michonne said, and grinning, she followed her down.


	11. Chapter 11

Consider yourself disclaimed.

Ember

Chapter 11 - Scattered ashes

When Daryl was sixteen, Merle had taken him into the city and paid a hooker to 'make a man out of his baby brother.' The encounter had lasted about five minutes, and took place in an alley, in the cab of their father's truck, with Merle sitting on the back bumper keeping an eye out for cops. The girl - woman he supposed - was older, maybe in her late twenties, but was already missing a few teeth; he'd never been certain if it was from a serious meth addiction, or if someone had knocked them out of her head. When it was over, he hadn't exactly felt like a man the way Merle had promised, but he did get a nasty case of crabs, and Merle assured him that this was proof that he wasn't a pansy-ass faggot like their old man was always saying. So there was that.

Since then, there'd been a few drunken encounters - some in the truck, some in the men's room at the local watering hole. Town girls, mostly; drunk and aggressive, and looking to piss off their Daddies by slumming it with a backwoods boy from the hills. Some of them had even told him that they loved him as he was pushing their faces up against the side of the bathroom stall, but then, some of them had also puked on his shoes. If he saw them again, he could never be sure, because they all ended up looking the same to him; which didn't really matter, ultimately, because if he'd approached them in the clear light of day, they'd never have acknowledged him anyway.

This was sex in Daryl Dixon's world, this was 'love' - a few sweet, softly spoken lies, a moment's release, and when they left, all you had to show for it was a bad case of crabs and vomit on your boots. He couldn't honestly say that he liked it, and yet, the next time some drunken filly approached him, usually egged on by her friends back at the bar, his body would betray him, and he'd end up right back in that bathroom stall, disgusted with himself.

It had been no use talking to Merle about it. Every time word of his barroom 'conquests' got back around to his older brother, Merle would thump him proudly on the back and tell him he was 'livin' the dream.' And the thing of it was, while it may have made him feel lower than shit from time to time, it had really been just as well. What would he have done with a steady girl anyway? Taken her home to meet the family? Jesus Christ… Merle would have given him endless grief about it, and, worse still, his old man probably would have used it as leverage against him. No, it had been smarter to keep his distance from other people, especially as far as women were concerned. He'd been very young when his mother had run off, but it had occurred to him even then that he'd be better off if he didn't love anything or anyone from that point on. If you didn't form attachments, then there was nothing they could take away from you. They couldn't hurt you as much if you just didn't give a shit.

It was a survivor's philosophy, and it seemed to hold true for the most part. It had gotten him through the remainder of his rocky childhood, and most of his adult life. If the world hadn't gone to hell, he probably would have continued on that way indefinitely, but things were different now. His old man was long dead, and Merle had been lost to him, in almost every conceivable way. There was no one left to tell him what he could and could not do, or what he wasn't good enough to have. If he wanted - if he could trust in it - he could have the life now that had always seemed out of reach; partly because he'd been afraid to get close to anyone, but mostly because he'd believed his Daddy and Merle when they'd told him that it wasn't meant for the likes of him. But living with this group, away from his kin, he'd been slowly coming to realize that those two had been wrong about a lot of things; and looking over at the woman nestled in the crook of his arm, he was beginning to think that this was one of them.

_Carol._

Maybe it was true that if the world hadn't changed the way it had, or if she hadn't lost everything dear to her, she never would have given a guy like him a second glance. But she was here now, and yesterday she'd told him, more than once, that she loved him.

That part was only just starting to sink in. He'd been angry when she'd first told him, and she'd seemed desperate, desperate enough to say anything to get him back to camp… but last night had been a different story. It hadn't been the first time a woman had said that to him in the heat of the moment, but Carol had presented it to him as a reason for the moment to stop. It had confused and frustrated him at the time, but now, lying here, he found himself almost wanting to believe her. She'd had nothing to gain by saying it - in all likelihood, she must have figured that it could have set him off again, but she'd said it anyway. Which, to his mind, meant that it was probably true. And hell, even if it was all just some pretty words, it was clear to anyone who cared to notice that Carol had no intention of looking elsewhere for a partner. He could have her, if he wanted to. He could be her man.

But that would mean coming out of survival mode, and even if he could figure out how to do that, there had never been a worse time.

As if sensing the disquiet in him - and he wouldn't have put it past her - Carol breathed a small sigh of contentment and let her hand drift down his belly, nuzzling her face deeper into his neck. Daryl felt the early stirrings of arousal, and tried to tamp them back down. Last night had been important - he'd needed her to understand where he stood, even if he wasn't entirely sure himself what to make of it all - but to mess around with her today seemed almost cruel; it would be like lying to her, like making a promise he knew he wouldn't keep. It was hard decision to stick to, what with her naked body pressed against his, and her fingers lazily making their way further south, but he knew that harder decisions still lay ahead, and he was anxious to get on with it. Keeping it bottled up inside was making him feel sick.

"Hey," he said softly, giving her a little shake, "I think we'd better get a move on."

Carol groaned. "Mnn… Do we really have to?" she asked, leaning in to place a smattering of tiny kisses on his neck.

"Yeah, we do," he grunted reluctantly, "C'mon, daylight's burnin' and we've got a lot of shit to get through today."

Carol sat up and stretched, cracking her back in the process. "Fiiiiiine…" she grumbled amiably, smiling back at him over her shoulder.

Just the sight of her smiling at him like that made Daryl's chest feel uncomfortably tight, and the need to get outside was becoming overwhelming. He hurried out of bed, and began the haphazard process of pulling on his scattered clothing.

"Wouldn't you rather put something clean on?" Carol asked, a hint of concern creeping into her voice. "I could wash those for you..."

"It don't matter, they're fine," he said gruffly. Carol blinked at him, taken aback by the sudden change in his demeanor.

"Sorry…" she said quietly, rubbing her upper arms with her hands. "I just thought you'd be more comfortable, is all."

Hearing the hurt in her voice, Daryl turned to look at her. He was doing it again. Reaching over, he touched her arm, brushing his knuckles gently against her bare skin.

"It's fine," he said softly, offering up a small, closed-mouth smile that he hoped was reassuring. "Don't need to trouble yourself, they're just gonna get filthy anyway."

Carol reached for his hand, taking it in her own. She brought his knuckles up to her mouth and kissed them, then smiled back at him. Daryl was coming dangerously close to saying the hell with everything, and letting her coax him back into bed. But his forced smile began to falter, and he turned away. They finished dressing in silence.

On their way out the door, however, she stopped him and said, "I think I'm going to skip the meeting entirely and go make breakfast. You all know how I feel about this already, but it doesn't seem to matter, so I'd just rather not participate."

Daryl nodded, a lump growing in his throat. She turned to walk out the door, but he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back inside, holding her tightly to him.

"Daryl!" she gasped, sounding uncertain and a little amused, but she smiled. After a few seconds she relaxed into his arms, resting her head against his shoulder.

"You sure you're alright?" she asked quietly, tilting her head up to look him in the eye. He wasn't able to hold her gaze for more than a second, so rather than stare at the wall behind her, he grabbed the back of her head and pulled her in for a kiss. But the soft, happy little noises she began to murmur against his mouth as soon as their lips met only made him feel worse, and he quickly pulled away.

"Let's go," he said hastily, and moving past her, he rushed down the stairs and out the door.

When they got outside, they saw that almost everyone was up, and had gathered in the center of camp. Maggie followed Carol as she headed out to the supply trailer, clearly as resigned to their decision as Carol was herself, but equally unwilling to participate.

Andrea and Michonne were the last to join them, coming out of their trailer together, giggling about something or other. Daryl frowned slightly. If he hadn't know any better, he'd have sworn there was something…funny going on between those two.

An instant after the thought had formed in his mind, Andrea got a playful gleam in her eye, and, biting her lip, she swung her arm out, swatting Michonne firmly on the ass.

Momentarily distracted from his own problems, Daryl cast a glance over at Rick, his eyebrows raised. Rick caught it, and shrugged.

'_Well, shit.'_ Daryl thought to himself. Maybe he _didn't_ know any better.

"So…" began Glenn awkwardly as the two women approached. "we're right back where we left off. Which was…nowhere."

"Actually," Daryl said hesitantly, clearing his throat. "I've been givin' it a lot of thought, and-"

"Where the hell did you find the time?" Michonne interrupted in a low, cool voice. Andrea bit back a smirk.

"Man, why don't you shut the _fuck _up?" Daryl growled back at her, his eyes narrowed, "I'm bein' serious here!"

A heavy silenced followed his outburst - a pin could have dropped. Michonne crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow at him, but shut her mouth.

"You finished?" he snarled, scowling at her, then turned away and muttered darkly to himself, "Jesus Christ, you people…"

"Alright, everybody, keep it together," Rick cautioned, placing a firm hand on Daryl's shoulder. "Come on, Daryl, you've got an idea? Let's hear it."

Daryl shifted uncomfortably, slipping out of Rick's grip, but he nodded at them and continued.

"What Glenn said last night? He was right," he said, "if we're gonna attack, we have to find out as much as we can about these people, and what's goin' on inside that prison…" Daryl hesitated, his eyes following Carol as she scurried by with the beginnings of breakfast. "What we need is someone on the inside," he continued, "So, I figured…what with Merle already runnin' with 'em, well, they'd probably take me in, too."

There was a low, almost reluctant murmur of assent as the group looked to one another. Andrea seemed ready to speak up, when the loud clanging of a cast iron skillet being dropped against stone rang out behind them. They turned in time to see Carol running up the steps of their RV, and pulling the door shut behind her with a slam that rocked the vehicle on its moorings.

When they turned back, all eyes were on him.

"Ok, I'll bite. Why you?" Andrea asked. He didn't much care for the pitying look she was giving him.

"Who else? Merle knows the rest of you, and I'm guessing he didn't take too kindly to bein' handcuffed to that roof and left for dead. I'd say you'd be damned lucky if he killed you on the spot," Daryl grumbled, some of that old anger pushing its way back up to the surface. "But he ain't gonna kill me. Hell, he'll vouch for me. Then once I'm in, I can find their weak spots. We can set up a meetin' place ahead of time, so when I go out patrollin', we can meet up and I can report back to you. When we decide on the time, I can light the fire. You lot'd probably fuck it up and burn the whole place down anyway. I gotta get in there, it's the only way we actually stand a chance of pullin' this thing off. "

Rick had a deeply troubled look on his face, but he nodded. "I hate to risk you, Daryl, especially when we're so severely undermanned, but I think you've got it right. When do you want to do this thing? I'm thinking the sooner the better, honestly."

"Figured I'd head out this afternoon," Daryl said, scratching the back of his neck. "That gives us the morning to work out the details, with a little time leftover to for me to…get my shit in order."

Michonne grimaced, her lip curling up in a sneer. "You may want a bit more time than that - your "shit" seemed pretty upset."

"You got some kinda problem with me, lady?" Daryl barked at her, "Cause you've been bustin' my balls since you got here, and I sure as hell don't recall askin' your opinion."

"It was a shitty thing to do," Michonne said evenly, "dropping it on her like that. You could have warned her ahead of time, saved her the humiliation."

Mouth set in a hard line and eyes blazing, Daryl walked across the camp toward the bothersome woman. He moved fast, because he could feel Rick and T-Dog already on his heels, preparing to grab him. He stopped a few inches short of her, just close enough to get in her face. Michonne stared right back at him, unshakable.

"You don't know a thing about it," he said in a low, venomous tone, "so why don't you keep your nose out?"

From his periphery, Andrea's level voice warned, "Careful, Daryl. You're starting to sound like Ed Peletier."

Daryl whipped his head around, moving his focus to Andrea, but she still had had damned pitying look on her face, and it was starting to gnaw at him. He took a few steps backward, struggling to keep any emotion but anger off his face.

"Remind me why I'm doin' this again?" he shouted, his voice starting to crack, "Because you're really startin' to make me question this whole 'puttin' my ass on the line' thing for you people."

"Come on, can we just focus here?" T-Dog blurted out, taking the attention off Daryl. "Let's all behave like grown-ups for once and get this shit sorted out."

"He's right," Hershel said calmly, "If we can't work together as a team, for the common good, then what hope do we have of making it through this? The numbers are not on our side, as I know you are all aware. The one thing we've got going for us is our fellowship, our sense of community. If we've lost sight of that, then there's no point in continuing with this, because we cannot hope to win."

Rick nodded, his hands on his hips. "Well said. Now if everyone's calm enough to continue," he said, looking pointedly between Daryl and Michonne, "let's get down to brass tacks." Though still glaring at each other from either side of the fire pit, neither of them uttered a word of complaint. Rick took their silence as acquiescence, and proceeded.

As far as espionage went, it was a fairly simple plan. They would meet up in five days, at the truckstop where Carol and T-Dog had been ambushed. Hopefully that would give Daryl enough time to get acclimated to the prison, and he'd have something useful to report back. If Daryl didn't show, someone would wait at the meeting place every day, for an hour starting at midday, until he finally did.

"But I'm telling you right now," Daryl cautioned them, "if I don't show for a fortnight, pack your shit and move on, cause I ain't makin' it back."

When they'd gone over every last little detail with a fine-toothed comb, it was just past noon, and while Maggie strong-armed Glenn into helping out with the group's meal for once, Lori set about getting together some food and supplies for Daryl. With nothing left to discuss on his end, all that was left unfinished was the inevitable confrontation waiting for him 'at home.' Reluctantly, he turned his boots in the direction of their RV.

He'd half expected to find the door locked, but that wasn't the case. When he entered, she was sitting at the table, staring out the kitchen window. It was unnerving; she looked almost exactly as she had the day Sophia had come stumbling out of Hershel's barn, when he'd found her hiding out in Dale's RV. She didn't turn to look at him, as she had then, she just continued to stare out the window, and said quietly, "You're a son of a bitch."

Lingering in the doorway, Daryl closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I know," was all he could think to say.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, her voice soft and hollow, like she'd been cried out. "It's obvious you'd had this planned since last night, so why didn't you tell me then? Why did you have to wait until we were around everyone else to drop that on me?"

"I wasn't… tryin' to make you look foolish," he said haltingly; he felt like his words were getting stuck in his throat. "I just… I didn't want you to try to talk me out of it." Daryl stared at her intently, trying to will her into turning around. "Look at me and tell me that you wouldn't have tried."

She didn't move a muscle. "Of _course_ I would have tried," she muttered, her voice heavy with resentment. "It's ridiculous. You all act like there's no other options, but that's just plain bullshit, and now you're deliberately putting yourself in harm's way. You're gonna die out there, Daryl," she said, her voice dropping to a hoarse whisper, "I should have known this wouldn't last."

"See, this is why I didn't tell you last night," he huffed, sitting down on the kitchen counter. "I didn't want to argue. My mind was made up, and once I knew I'd have to leave… I didn't want to waste our time fightin' about shit that wasn't gonna change."

"So you lied to me instead," she said flatly.

"I never lied," Daryl argued, "I just didn't say everythin' I could have."

Carol shook her head, still refusing to look at him. "I don't see the difference."

Daryl slid down off the counter and sat down in the chair across from her, making it difficult for her to avoid looking at him.

"Listen…" he said, "I'm leavin' today whether we're ok or not, but I'd feel a whole lot better about goin' if we were."

Carol laughed bitterly, rolling her eyes. "Why should you get to feel better? Because frankly, I feel like shit, and I don't expect that's gonna change anytime soon."

Daryl fidgeted in his seat, trying to keep his temper in check. "Cause the last thing I need is to be distracted while I'm out there. I don't want to fuck things up because I'm worried about you bein' pissed at me the entire time I'm gone."

"Don't try to put this on me!" Carol said hotly, finally turning her head away from the window to look him in the eye. "If you're really worried about making mistakes because I'm sitting back here angry at you, well, then that's real easy to fix - don't go!"

"I have to go!" he said, raising his voice at her, "We ain't safe out here, it's a fuckin' pipe dream! Sure, we can hole up in our RV, play house, right up until Merle an' those fuckers find this place, or a herd of walkers come bustin' down our gate. Either way, we end up dead. I don't fuckin' want to go in there, Carol. I don't wanna kill Merle. I don't wanna leave. Last night happened because I need a reason to do this. And I need a reason to make it back alive."

Carol sat as still as death, staring right into him. Her face was open and expressionless, but tiny rivulets of tears were rolling down her cheeks. "I don't want to be the reason you risk your life," she said steadily.

Daryl looked down at his hands resting on the table. He nodded, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip, then sighed through his nose and looked back up into her stony, blue-gray eyes.

"Yeah, well…tough," he said softly.

Carol's bottom lip began to quiver, and an instant later, her face crumbled. She bolted from her seat, heading for the door, but he managed to grab her before she made it more than a few steps. He'd been expecting her to put up a fight, but she barely struggled at all before collapsing into his arms, sobbing violently.

"I can't…I can't lose anyone else," she wailed into his chest, "I can't take it anymore."

Daryl held her tightly, rocking gently back and forth as he let her cry it out. Slowly, she grew quieter, and her body stopped heaving against him.

"Please don't do this," she whispered, her small hands clutching at his back.

"You gotta stop that," he said sadly, "The only way we can hope to have any kinda future here is if we're willin' to fight for it. That's what survivors do," he said, resting his chin on top of her head, "we fight."

"What if I'm not a survivor?" Carol sniffed miserably. "I don't think I've got much fight left in me."

"Ah, bullshit," Daryl muttered, giving her body a light squeeze. "I told you, I've never met a more stubborn pain in the ass in my whole life. We should be sending _you_ to take on Merle."

She choked out a laugh at that. It was a pitiful sound, but it bolstered him, giving him hope. Maybe she wasn't quite prepared for the shit storm they were heading into, but she was smart, and whole lot stronger than she looked. With a little help, she could learn.


	12. Chapter 12

WARNING: Do not attempt.

Ember

Chapter 12 - Backdraft

Carol stared blankly out the front windshield of the RV, her fingers absently playing with the tiny gold cross that rested at her neck. It was barely past noon, but she was exhausted.

Daryl had left her there only a few moments before, making the excuse that he needed to gather his loose ends and gas up the bike. But before he'd gone, he had tried to kiss her, his fingers clumsily tugging at the buttons of her sweater, trying to peel it open. She had quickly put a stop to it. She couldn't have been less in the mood if she'd tried, and she didn't want to sully her memory of the previous night with a rushed, desperate tumble just so Daryl could feel like he'd somehow absolved himself. She loved him, but he wasn't getting off that easily.

Sighing heavily, Carol gently rubbed at her eyes, raw and aching from the hours she'd spent crying. She was starting to hate herself for her weakness, and her inability to better hide it from everyone around her. With Daryl gone, how long would it be before they grew as tired of her as she was with herself? After the farm, she'd been determined to pull her own weight, to no longer burden the group with her useless presence. How long had that lasted? A day? One bad incident and she'd gone right back to hiding behind Daryl. And now she was facing the very real possibility that Daryl would not be coming back, and she'd be on her own again.

She'd spent the entire morning wallowing in her grief, and it had gotten her nowhere, achieved nothing. It occurred to her that loss should have been second nature to her by now. It was almost easier to think in terms of self preservation than to dwell on the fact that the only decent man she'd ever loved was delivering himself into the hands of their enemies. It was a lie she was telling herself, but the alternative was breaking completely, and for some unfathomable reason, she wasn't quite ready to opt out.

She was, however, tired of waiting. Tromping down the stairs, she pushed open the door and stepped into the midday sun, squinting at the brightness that assaulted her tired eyes. When she could focus, she caught sight of Daryl just across camp, talking with Andrea in hushed tones. She started toward them, but when Andrea noticed her heading their way, they both looked up and fell silent.

Carol frowned at them. "What's going on?" she demanded.

"Nothin,'" Daryl said quietly, but between the surreptitious look he gave Andrea, and the abrupt way the conversation had ended the second she'd approached them, it wasn't difficult to figure out who they'd been talking about.

"I'm just fixin' to leave, " Daryl explained, glancing sheepishly at her.

"Well, don't let me interrupt," she said, crossing her arms over her chest, but neither Daryl nor Andrea seemed inclined to continue.

"Tell you what," Daryl said, looking back over his shoulder, "Lori's over at the supply trailer gatherin' up some things for my trip. Would you mind goin' to see if she's finished yet?"

Carol glowered furiously at this flat out dismissal, but if that was the way he wanted to play it, then fine. She turned on her heels and stalked off toward the supply trailer without another word.

As promised, she found Lori inside, standing in front of a small selection of food stuff laid out neatly on the kitchen table next to a small bag. There wasn't much to spare, Carol knew, and Lori seemed to be weighing their options very carefully.

"Don't give him that, he doesn't like it," she said, reaching over to pick up a can of pasta off the table, then scolded herself an instant later, annoyed that she couldn't stop mothering even when she was furious at him. She felt her face flush, and she gripped the edge of the table, feeling suddenly off-kilter.

Without a word, Lori reached over and gently took the can from her hand, gesturing for Carol to sit down. She grabbed a bottle of water from off one of the shelves, opened it, and offered it to the distraught woman, who accepted it with trembling fingers.

"Better?" Lori asked as Carol took a swig from the bottle. Carol nodded.

"This was a mistake," Carol said softly, handing the bottle back to Lori. "I never should have started it."

Lori didn't ask what she was talking about, but after a few moments, she said, "You know, every time Rick leaves camp, especially if he's running off to help someone, or pull off some "mission," I find myself hating him."

Carol looked up, startled.

"Don't get me wrong," Lori explained, "I love him, and I'm scared for him, but at the same time, a large part of me hates him for it. I hate him for leaving, and for risking himself out there when we need him here. Sometimes I wonder if Shane didn't have it right. I'm not trying to excuse the things he did, and I know it's selfish of me and wrong in a lot of ways, but Carl and I were the only thing that mattered to that man, and there was something very comforting in that. With Shane, I always knew we'd be safe, and that we'd never have to compete with anything else for his attention. He wouldn't have left us, or put us at risk for some far-fetched dream of security."

Carol swallowed hard, looking down at her hands. There was a time, early on, when she'd envied Lori for having a man like Shane watching over her. He'd been kind to her and Sophia, and in small ways had even tried protecting her from her husband. Of course, all of that had changed after Rick had come back from the dead.

"Loving a man like Rick, though," Lori continued haltingly, "it's…more complicated. It's more difficult, in some ways. A large part of what you love is the good in him, his willingness to go that extra mile for what he believes in, his determination and perseverance when the odds are stacked against him…but it's those same qualities that keep taking him away from you. So you find yourself caught in a trap, of loving him and hating him at the same time. He's a man you're proud to call your own, but he's…never fully yours. It's a…thorny business. Do you understand?"

Carol nodded, and said in a near whisper, "Yes."

Lori stopped talking after that, and there was a long silence while she filled the small bag with the supplies she'd finally decided upon. When she was finished, she handed the bag to Carol.

"Here," she said. As Carol got up to leave, Lori moved toward her, taking Carol's hand in her own.

"Carol… I know things haven't been the same between us since you lost Sophia, but… I just want you to know that I still care about you. We all care about you. Everyone thinks it's wonderful, what's happening between you and Daryl, and the change, the remarkable effect you've had on him…It's unbelievable. You're an amazing woman, Carol Peletier. You need to remember that."

Lori embraced her then, and Carol allowed herself to be held, putting aside her anger and sorrow for a moment.

"It doesn't get any easier, does it?" she asked, sighing against Lori's shoulder.

Lori shook her head sadly, releasing her. "No, I'm afraid it doesn't."

Carol smiled ruefully. "I didn't think so," she said softly. She turned then, and with one last, pained look at Lori, walked out the door.

When she got back to the center of camp, she saw that the group was gathering down by the front gate for Daryl's sendoff. As Carol approached, they moved aside for her, clearing a path to him. He was standing beside the bike, waiting for her. It seemed like they'd _all_ been waiting for her. Evasively, she walked up to the back of the bike and tucked the small sack of supplies into one of his saddle bags, prolonging the inevitable moment when she would have to stand face to face with him. Feeling the weight of everyone's gaze on them, she turned to look at him, the thin veneer of her composure beginning to crack.

Daryl moved in close, but made no move to touch her. Instead, he bent his head down next to her ear and whispered, "I don't know what I'm 'sposed to do here."

Carol remained very still, but when he pulled back from her, her eyes followed his. Yes, she was still angry. And Lori had been right, a large part of her wanted to hate him at that moment. But the rest of her still loved him, and even though the thought of losing him made her feel as though the ground might swallow her up at any moment, and it might have been better to never have loved him at all, she could not let him leave without making peace with him. She'd never be able to forgive herself if he didn't make it back.

Leaning in, Carol put her hands on his shoulders, raising up on her toes to place a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. She felt his hand slide around her waist, and a second later he had pulled her against him in a hard embrace.

"I'll be back real soon," he promised, his words a gruff tickle against her ear.

"I know you will," she lied. "but please be safe."

"That goes double for you," he whispered, planting a quick, rough kiss on the side of her head. "Don't take anyone's shit."

"I won't," she promised. "You're the only one who gives me shit anyway."

Daryl looked like he couldn't decide whether to scowl or smirk. "I guess I deserve that," he said, letting her pull back from him.

Carol nodded, smiling at him. "You do," she agreed, her voice still low so the others wouldn't hear. "But I still love you."

"I know," he said his mouth quirking up on one side in a reluctant little grin. Then an instant later, he added, "Alright, I gotta go."

Carol stepped back, and he turned to the chopper, swinging his leg over and climbing on.

Rick stepped forward, taking Daryl's hand and gave him a one-armed hug, thumping him on the back. "Good luck, man," he said, stepping back. "See you in five days."

"I'll be there," Daryl confirmed with a quick jerk of his head. Then, before anyone else could speak, he kicked started the bike and it roared to life. Hershel opened the gate, and with one last glance back at them, he took off down the dirt road, leaving them behind.

iiiii

The sun had just dipped below the tree line when Daryl turned down the dirt road, the final stretch that lead up to the gates of West Central Prison. He hadn't come directly from the RV park - despite the stoic front he'd put up when he'd left the others, he'd needed to go somewhere quiet to clear his head before facing Merle. He'd found a patch of grass somewhere off the highway, a small clearing in the middle of the brush, and he'd lain there for a time, mentally preparing himself. It wasn't his usual M.O., all this thinking and waiting, but the situation was about as far from "usual" as he'd encountered; and that was keeping in mind that the dead had started walking around and eating people a few months prior.

Lying there in the grass, he'd eventually let his mind wander back to that morning. After the fight, after it had become clear that Carol wouldn't accept his excuses, he'd gone to see Andrea. He'd meant what he'd said to Carol about leaving, one way or the other, but that didn't mean that he didn't care about what happened to her.

He'd found Andrea sitting on top of her RV with the other one, chatting it up while they kept watch over the camp.

"Hey Daryl," she'd called down, waving to him as he'd approached their ancient Winnebago. He'd wondered at the time if she'd chosen the graying, harvest gold monstrosity because it reminded her of Dale.

"Hey yourself," he'd called up to her, using his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. "You got a sec?"

"Of course, gimme a minute," she'd called back. There'd been a moment between the two women - some words exchanged, he hadn't been able to hear them - and then Andrea had climbed down the ladder, leaving the rifle with Michonne. As soon as her feet had hit the ground, she'd smiled at him and said, "What's on your mind, Daryl?"

"I need to ask a favor," he'd said, and Andrea's smile had widened until she was practically beaming.

"Name it. Anything," she'd said, sounding relieved. "I still owe you one for nearly putting a bullet between your eyes."

He'd shook his head. "Nah, I already told you, we're square on that. But if you're willin,' there's somethin' I need you to do for me while I'm gone."

Andrea had nodded, her hands on her hips. "Like I said, just name it. What do you need?"

He'd looked back at the RV he shared with Carol, dropping his voice to just above a whisper.

"Can you keep an eye on Carol?" he'd asked, looking back at Andrea. "You're the only one I could think of who's capable, and who might be willin' to do it. I could ask Rick, but he's got his family to worry about, and if push came to shove, they'd be his first concern. Ain't nothin' wrong with that, but I gotta look out for mine, too."

And there it had been, his admission hanging in the air between them. Sure, maybe it had already been obvious to everyone else, but that had been a big step for him.

Andrea had smiled kindly. "I'd be glad to do it, Daryl," she'd said softly. "You don't even have to ask."

Daryl had nodded to himself, relieved. "I appreciate it."

"How's she holding up?" She'd asked suddenly. He'd frowned.

"'Bout how you'd expect. She's pissed at me, and she's sad. But mostly I think she's scared."

"She cares about you," Andrea had pointed out, but he'd shook his head.

"Yeah, that's part of it, but it's more than that. If I don't come back, she's on her own again, and she don't know how to protect herself. She's pretty much helpless out here, and I know that bothers her more than she lets on."

"Daryl, I told you, I'll watch after her," Andrea had reassured him, "I promise."

She'd stop talking then, and her eyes had moved away from his face to stare past him. He'd turned to see what had caught her attention, and there had been Carol, glaring away at them.

"What's going on?" she'd demanded, and glancing over at Andrea probably hadn't helped his credibility any, but she'd caught him off guard.

"Nothin.' I'm just fixin' to leave."

"Well, don't let me interrupt," she'd said, crossing her arms over her chest, and he'd found himself caught between a rock and a hard place.

"Tell you what," he'd said, looking back over his shoulder, "Lori's over at the supply trailer gatherin' up some things for my trip. Would you mind goin' to see if she's finished yet?"

He'd been surprised and a little dismayed when she hadn't argued, but had simply glared at him and stormed off.

"Yeah…she's pissed," Andrea had said as soon as Carol was out of earshot. "I don't think I've ever seen her like that."

He'd made a small noise of derision, clucking his tongue against his teeth. "You ain't been around much lately. I might be rubbin' off on her."

Andrea had frowned slightly, quietly considering what he'd said. "That's good though, isn't it?" she'd said after a few moments. "Better angry than defeated."

He'd grinned, then, albeit reluctantly. "Maybe for _her._"

"Yeah, well," Andrea had said, looking up at Michonne and smiling, "As far as that goes, I don't see that you've got much call to complain. You have, without a doubt, the sweetest, least argumentative woman in this entire camp."

"Sweet as pie," he'd agreed, scowling darkly, "And the most likely to get torn apart by geeks."

"I won't let that happen," she'd said firmly. "Between me and Michonne, we've got you covered."

"Uh, excuse me, bitch?" Michonne had called down from the rooftop of the Winnebago. "What are you signing me up for?"

Andrea had smiled, rolling her eyes. But before she could say another word, Hershel had approached them.

"Rick's waiting down by the front gate," Hershel had said, nodding his acknowledgement of Andrea, but mainly addressing him. "He wants to know if you're almost ready."

He'd nodded. "Just waitin' on some things. Carol's 'sposed to be bringin' me some supplies."

"They've got your bike gassed and ready," Hershel had insisted, "now we're just waitin' on you."

He'd huffed, getting annoyed. "What's the matter, old man? You in a rush to get rid of me or somethin'?"

Hershel had calmly shook his head. "Don't shoot the messenger, son. I think Rick's just anxious to get this thing underway."

"_He's_ anxious…" Daryl had grumbled, but he'd followed the old man down toward the front gate all the same.

iiiii

He'd needed the memory to end there - he hadn't wanted to think about what had come next. Thinking about leaving her would be too distracting, and he needed to stay focused. He'd sat up then, had some water and jerky, then headed back out to the highway. Coming out of the woods, he'd found a walker pawing at Merle's bike - a walker sporting an orange jumpsuit. He'd put a bolt through it's eye and continued on his way.

Now the prison was in view, and his heart started to pound in his chest. There were sentries in the guard towers, and even if they hadn't spotted him yet, there was no way they'd missed the roar of the chopper. He had to be quick now, before he lost his nerve, because there was no turning back. Picking up speed, he flew down the road, gritting his teeth against the wind. About a hundred feet from the front gate, he slowed the bike to a crawl, then stopped. As he climbed off the bike, he could see the men in the towers, guns trained on him, and already there was a group of men armed with police batons and assault rifles coming out into the yard. They were still pretty far back, but he couldn't see Merle with them. Going against every fight-or-flight instinct that he had, Daryl removed his knife from his belt, held it up in front of him for the men to see, then gently tossed it away, out of his reach. Then, taking a deep breath, he laced his fingers behind his head, got down on his knees and waited.


	13. Chapter 13

Is the opposite of a Disclaimer a Proclaimer? 'Cause I could walk five hundred miles...

Ember

Chapter 13 - Lightning in a bottle

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. The main gates to the prison were sliding open on their wheels, and behind them stood the half dozen men or so who made up the 'welcome wagon.' Tiny bits of gravel were beginning to dig painfully into Daryl's knees, but he didn't dare move. The men coming out of the gate were keeping their muzzles low, but the snipers in the guard towers to either side of him still had him firmly in their crosshairs.

While the others hung back a bit, a dark haired man in black riot gear came forward through the gate, training his rifle on Daryl's head.

"Identify yourself," he called out.

"Daryl Dixon," Daryl shouted back. "I'm lookin' for my brother, Merle. Thought he might be runnin' with you lot. You got a Merle Dixon?"

Never taking his eyes off Daryl, the man called back into the yard. "Anyone seen Dixon? We got a guy out here claiming to be his brother."

"He's out on a raid with Clements and Scutter. Should be back before too long," a very large man with a handlebar moustache and a deep, booming voice called back. He was easily a head taller than everyone else there, and was dressed in a prison jumpsuit, but whether he was actually an inmate or not, it was impossible to tell.

A second later, a small man with sandy blonde hair came forward, but kept the man in riot gear between Daryl and himself.

"Man, why don't we just waste this fool and throw him to the lame-brains?" he said to the other man, who was clearly in charge of this little party. "We need another mouth to feed like I need a hole in the head." Daryl didn't think the kid could have been more than nineteen, but he had a mean look about him, like one of those nasty little rat dogs. Daryl had a feeling he'd be wanting to stomp on that one, if he got the chance.

The older man turned to look over his shoulder at the kid; the man obviously trusted in the competence of his snipers.

"And if this guy does turn out to be Dixon's brother?" he asked with a calm severity. "You want to be the one to explain to him how we offed his kin?" The question was met with absolute silence from the young man, who dropped his eyes to the ground. The man in riot gear smirked. "I didn't think so. Come on, we'll put him in a cell until Dixon gets back."

Stepping back, the man in riot gear waved his hand, motioning for his boys to come forward. Their guns came up as they passed through the gate, surrounding Daryl.

"Lay down on the ground and put your hands behind your back," one of them barked at him. Daryl gritted his teeth, but did as he was told. While the one who gave the order kept his gun pointed at Daryl's head, another man came around from behind and cuffed him. From his limited vantage point there on the ground, he could see them going through his things. Someone had picked up his knife, and another one was rummaging through his saddlebags. The blonde kid with the rat dog face was over there as well, having a gander at Merle's bike. When he saw Daryl's crossbow, he uttered a low whistle and picked it up.

"Look at that…" he breathed, bringing the bow up to his eye level, as if to shoot. He turned to Daryl, who was in the process of being frisked by the man who had cuffed him. "You any good with this thing?" the kid asked.

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't," Daryl growled at him.

"Well, we're just going to hold on to it for now, until your story checks out," said the one patting him down. From his voice, Daryl placed him as the giant in the jumpsuit. "Zeke!" the man barked, and the blonde kid jumped nearly a mile, looking guilty as hell. "That ain't a toy. Run that down to the armory, now." The man's tone left no room for argument, and the kid took off at a fair clip, taking Daryl's most prized possession with him. There was no time to dwell on the loss, however, because he was being pulled roughly to his feet by a pair of arms as big as drainage pipes.

"Come along, friend," the big man said, thumping him on the back and almost knocking him back over in the process. "Let me show you to your room."

They walked through the front gates and into the yard. Behind him, Daryl heard someone starting up Merle's bike, and had to bite back an angry snarl. He'd known they wouldn't let him in with his weapons - not initially, anyhow - but the way they were picking through his things like he was already a corpse was making his skin crawl.

Once inside the prison, they marched him through a couple of cell blocks, where he saw that many of the open cells had been converted into storage areas and living space that offered a bit more privacy - sheets had been tacked up against the bars, and in some cases, plywood. In the open areas, they passed men playing cards, and when they passed the gym, he saw a few more lifting weights. There were even a couple of guys playing basketball. There was noise, and commotion. There was life. Rick had been right - this place could be their salvation. He could have easily seen Carl and Sophia playing together in that gym, had things been different. Lori could safely raise her baby, at any rate. And maybe someday, if things here proved stable enough, there could be others.

Distracted as he was by these thoughts, it took him a few seconds to realize that they were taking him into an empty wing. It was a dark corridor, and apart from the slight noises they were making, it was eerily silent. Trying his best to swallow the growing unease he was feeling in that murky hallway, Daryl wondered to himself where they were keeping the other prisoners. Carol had said that these men were collecting women - where were they?

"Here we are, end of the line," the large man said, his voice echoing unpleasantly in the stillness. He lead Daryl into his cell, the last one in the row, and closed the gate behind him with a loud clank, locking him in. Daryl didn't like the finality that sound seemed to promise, not one little bit. It might have come as a surprise to his people back at camp, but it was his first time inside a prison cell - unless you counted the drunk tank, and he didn't. Up until this point, the only time he'd been inside a prison at all was when he'd been visiting Merle.

"Back up against the bars and I'll uncuff you," the man instructed, and Daryl was more than happy to oblige. The second his hands were free, he rubbed at his wrists, turning to face his jailor through the bars.

"Just sit tight," the big man said, scratching at his moustache. "Your brother should be back soon, and he and Frank'll work all this out."

"Frank?" Daryl said dubiously. It was the first word he'd spoken since they'd entered the place.

"The boss," the man said, taking a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "The guy in the riot gear." He offered the pack to Daryl, who shook his head, before taking one himself and putting them back in his pocket.

Daryl glanced around his cage, getting the lay of the place. "Nice to know that he deals with these things personally, and doesn't just send others out to do his dirty work," he said, attempting to size the other man up.

"It is," the man admitted, lighting his cigarette. "And he gets a lot of respect for it around here." He blew a puff of smoke into Daryl's cell, then touching two fingers to his forehead in a half-hearted salute, he turned and started back down the darkened corridor.

"Hey!" Daryl called after him, stopping the big man for a moment. "What's your name, in case I need to ask after you?"

The man smirked, taking another drag off of his cigarette before answering. "Abraham," he said at last, then turned and continued down the hallway.

Daryl rested against the bars, listening to the hollow sound of Abraham's footsteps retreating down the hallway and out the door, leaving him alone in the darkness. This had not been a promising start, but hopefully Merle wouldn't be away for too much longer, and he could get out of this rat trap. This was the one thing he'd been afraid of ever since Rick had first suggested holing up in the prison - there was not enough light, and even though the scope of the place was huge, here in his cell, it felt claustrophobic. How had Merle done this so many times without losing his mind? Daryl sat down on the lower bunk in the corner of the cell, cradling his head in his hands and breathing slow. Merle would be here soon, and they'd let him out. He just had to wait.

iiiii

In the woods surrounding the RV park, Andrea was collecting loose kindling and fallen logs with Michonne and T-Dog. They'd spent the entire afternoon hauling wood back to the campsite, starting shortly after Daryl had left, and had amassed quite a pile in that time. The sun was just beginning to set, however, and they were going to have to start packing it in soon - no one wanted to still be in the woods after dark, not even Michonne. Andrea had just bent down to retrieve a few more sticks to add to the bundle in her arms, when she heard a small voice calling her name.

"Andrea?"

She turned around to see Carol approaching them, her small frame dwarfed by the oversized shirt she was wearing over her clothes. Andrea suspected that it was one that Daryl had left behind.

"Lori wanted me to tell you all that supper's ready, if you want to start heading back," Carol said, hugging her small arms to her body.

"Thanks," Andrea said, looking back at her two companions, both of whom looked about as ready to drop as she felt. "I think we're finished here anyway."

Carol turned to leave, but then seemed to think better of it, and turned back.

"Can I help?" she asked timidly.

Andrea smiled. "Sure," she said, and handed Carol the bundle of sticks. With her arms suddenly free, she walked over to grab the back end of a log Michonne had been dragging by herself. T-Dog lead the way back to camp, a couple of small logs slung over either shoulder. Carol fell in behind him, keeping pace with Michonne and Andrea.

After they'd walked a few steps, Carol said hesitantly, "Andrea… I know I have no right to ask, but could you please tell me what Daryl was talking to you about before he left?"

Andrea frowned, shaking her head. "Carol, I really don't think-"

"He thinks you need us to babysit your ass," Michonne said brusquely, interrupting her. "What I want to know is why you can't look after yourself."

"Michonne," Andrea warned in a low voice.

"Michonne nothing," the woman sneered. "She's a grown-ass woman. Why can't she defend herself?"

Things were quiet for a moment, and then Carol said softly, staring at the ground in front of her, "I don't know how."

"Excuse me?" Michonne snorted in disbelief, "Didn't you kill a man?"

"You better believe it," T-Dog interjected suddenly. "She saved my life. I'd be dead right now if you hadn't shot that man, Carol, and don't you forget it."

Carol remained silent, but Michonne persisted. "See? You're perfectly capable, girl, you just need some training, and that is something I could get behind. Having to watch after your ass would only slow us down - face it, you're a liability. But if you're willing to learn how to defend yourself, someday you could end up saving our asses, and that's how you go from being a liability to an asset."

Michonne stopped to look at Carol levelly, bringing the rest of the party to a halt.

"Wouldn't you rather be an asset, Carol?"

Carol stared back, looking uncertain, but then she nodded, her mouth a firm line. "Yes."

"Good. We'll get started first thing tomorrow," Michonne said with a decisive nod of her head. Then, the corner of her mouth quirking up a bit, she added, "Hell, if you show enough initiative, maybe they'll let you go along to the rendezvous in five days. You could see your man."

Though it was subtle, and easily missed if you weren't paying attention, for the first time all day, Carol seemed to brighten a little. Andrea looked at Michonne, feeling a rush of pride and relief. She'd been becoming increasingly concerned that Michonne wasn't adjusting well to living within the group - the unexplained, but constant tension between Michonne and Daryl hadn't helped any - but reaching out to Carol in this way was almost like offering up a truce; or, at the very least it showed that Michonne was invested in sticking around. It was a small step, but at least it was in the right direction. Smiling to herself, she adjusted her grip on the log and followed her friends back to camp.

iiii

A loud whistle echoed down the dark hallway. Daryl awoke with a start, nearly banging his head against the bottom of the bunk above him; the stress of waiting had worn him out, and he'd dozed off. But now, the steady sound of boots approaching from down the hall had him on alert, and he crept out of bed, staying low and cautious.

"Yooooooooo-hooooooooo…" A voice sang out in the darkness, and the loud clang of something metal being dragged against the bars of every cell that lead down to his filled the room with a deafening clamor. Daryl's heart began to race, in a strange mixture of hope and dread.

"Darlina?" a gravelly voice shouted, "You in here? Ole' Merle heard himself a rumor that his baby brother had finally showed up to pay him a visit. That true?"

"MERLE!" Daryl yelped, shoving an arm through the bars and waving it frantically. "Merle! I'm in here!"

"Well, well, well!" Merle laughed as he sauntered the rest of the way to Daryl's cell, taking his time. "There's the little man. Ain't you a sight for sore eyes."

"It's good to see you, too, bro," Daryl said, smiling with relief, "I missed you somethin' awful."

Daryl could see what Merle had been dragging across the bars - the stump where his right hand had been was encased in a contraption made of leather and metal.

Merle smiled, showing all of his teeth. "You sure you ain't just glad to see me because you're hopin' I'll let you outta this cage, now?"

Daryl's smile faltered a little bit. "C'mon, Merle, quit fuckin' around. I been lookin' everywhere for you."

"Is that right?" Merle asked. His smile grew broader, but his eyes narrowed. "Must be why it took you so long to find me."

Daryl bowed his head. "I'm sorry. I got hurt, bro. Had to heal up. I got back from huntin' to find you gone - that cop tellin' me that you 'didn't play nice with others,' and that they'd left you cuffed to a roof."

"Officer Friendly." The smile never faltered, but the glint in his eye was murderous.

Daryl nodded. When he looked up, his eyes were burning. "I made him take me back into Atlanta to find you, but by the time I got there, the only thing I found was your hand. I took my vengeance back to camp, but those fuckers attacked me. I got stabbed through my side, and that blonde bitch with the gun tried to shoot me in the head, see?" Daryl pointed to the scar across his forehead, where Andrea's bullet had grazed him. "Fuckers left me for dead, too. Guess they headed off for Fort Benning, like that puffed-up sombitch Shane was always goin' on about. By the time I came around, they was long gone." His story finished, Daryl looked up expectantly at his older brother, hoping to god that there had been enough truth in it to sound believable. He'd never been very good at lying.

Merle seemed to be mulling it all over, nodding his head occasionally. "Now that is a harrowing tale of woe, little brother. A harrowing tale."

"Fuck you, Merle. It's the god's honest truth," Daryl spat, then wanted to kick himself a moment later. He was trying to sell it too hard.

"Well, I'm glad you made it through," Merle said finally. "And you even brought back my bike."

"And your meth," Daryl grumbled bitterly. "You gonna let me outta here or what?"

"Easy now," Merle cautioned, holding up a finger. "It ain't up to me, baby brother, it's up to Frank."

"I been down here in this hole all day!" Daryl fumed, banging on the bars. "How long am I gonna have to wait here in the dark?"

"If you want out of that cage, then that ain't no way to be," Merle warned. "Stay Zen, little man. Frank's on his way down, and if you keep actin' like a wild animal, he's gonna treat you like one, believe you me."

Daryl sat down hard on the bottom bunk and began hitting the sides of his head with his fists. "Merle…I fuckin' hate this. It's like the shed all over again."

"Frank ain't dad," Merle said evenly. "If you're reasonable, he'll be reasonable."

Daryl stopped and looked up. "Since when do you know anything about 'reasonable'?"

"Well…." Merle said, scratching under his chin, "Been through a lot of changes lately, in case you hadn't noticed," With a grin, he tapped his stump against the bars of Daryl's cell. "I may have made it out of Atlanta under my own steam, but two days later I was lyin' in a ditch, dyin' from infection. The fever nearly boiled my poor ole' brain right in my skull. That's when Frank and this here gang found me. Guess they liked what they saw, 'cause they fixed me up with some antibiotics and had me on my feet and raisin' hell again in no time. Been runnin' with them ever since."

Daryl narrowed his eyes. "Why would they waste somethin' as dear as antibiotics on someone they didn't know?"

Merle shrugged. "Guess they saw my potential, baby brother. Anyway, you seen 'em. Apart from that big ole' moose Abraham, they ain't much to write home about. Bunch of scrawny kids, mostly. They needed some muscle, didn't they? And ole' Merle's got plenty of muscle."

Daryl frowned, unconvinced. "Yeah? And what do you get out of it?"

"I get a gang of boys that does as they're told," Merle said with a smirk. "The only man I answer to here in Frank, and only because he saved my life."

"And because it's convenient," Daryl muttered.

Merle laughed and touched a finger to his nose, but said nothing.

Daryl scowled. "You ain't changed that much, then."

"Maybe," Merle said evasively, "But I been clean, too. Ain't had nothin' in my system since Atlanta. Not that there's been anything to be had until you showed up, but Frank's probably had that taken care of already. He don't like drugs in his camp."

"And how does that sit with you?" Daryl asked,

Merle shrugged again. "Truth be told, it don't bother me much anymore. I got enough to occupy my time."

Daryl got up off the bunk and walked back over to Merle, wrapping his fists around the bars and looking his brother square in the eyes.

"I reckon so," he said after a beat. "This place must've been a bitch to clear out."

Merle pursed his lips, shaking his head. "You don't know the half of it, little man. There's still some dark corners in here I ain't so sure about."

Daryl saw his opportunity and seized it. "Sounds like you need every able bodied man you can get. You get me out of this cage and I can help, Merle. Shit, get me my crossbow and I'll do it by myself."

"Now _that's_ what I like to hear," a voice called, echoing down the corridor, followed by the hollow clack of boots on cement. A moment later, Frank appeared in front of Daryl's cell. He'd changed out of the riot gear, and into faded jeans and a rust colored T-shirt, all of which made him look startlingly normal.

"So, Merle," he said, looking Daryl up and down, "I take it this really is your brother?"

Merle smiled and nodded, facing Frank, but looking at Daryl out of the corner of his eye. "Yesssir. This here squirrelly little fuck is my own flesh and blood. Ain't he precious?"

Frank smirked back at Merle, then turned to speak with Daryl. "Your brother here," he began, gesturing back at Merle with a tilt of his head, "he tells me you're a skilled hunter and tracker. He also tells me that you're deadly proficient with that crossbow you brought in. Is all this true, or is the old dog blinded by brotherly love?"

'_Brotherly love….' _Daryl had to try very hard not to grimace. Instead, he raised an eyebrow and said, "Let me outta this cage and find out."

Frank nodded to himself. "I think I will," he said after a moment. "Merle's already vouched for you, and as it so happens, we're in need of a man with your skills. But if I let you out of here, and you join up with us, I'm going to need you to do a little job for me. How does that sound?"

Daryl nodded, stepping back from the bars. "Sounds just fine to me. Name it, I can do it."

"Excellent," Frank said with a smile. "We've been having a little trouble with some folks around here. There's another group - we don't know exactly where they're holed up, but they've killed several of our raiding parties. We've lost half a dozen men already. The only thing we know for sure about them is that they're a mixed group, men and women. We've had one report back from a scout who encountered two of them alone, and he said he saw a 'big black guy' and a woman. Unfortunately, by the time my boys got there, half his face had been blown off."

Daryl remained expressionless - he had a feeling that Frank was watching him carefully for a reaction.

Merle interrupted. "Could be that Atlanta group, eh Daryl? That would be sweet. We owe them some damages, don't we, little man?"

Daryl's eyes were still locked with Franks, but he nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, could be."

"Doesn't matter to me where they came from," Frank said, getting the keys from his belt, "So long as you can find them. Do you think you can you do that for me, Daryl?"

Daryl swallowed, and nodded. "Yeah, I can do that. No problem."

Then, to Daryl's great relief, Frank opened up the cell door and let him out. Merle walked over, putting an arm around him, as if welcoming him to the fold. Frank even came over and shook his hand, squeezing it firmly.

"Welcome aboard, Daryl," he said with a smile, "It's good to have you."


	14. Chapter 14

Did you know: There are actually zombies in this story?

Ember

Chapter 14 - Into the fire

"What's this?" Carol asked, looking down the long, metal blade Michonne held out to her, handle first. They were far from camp, in the middle of the deserted highway where, alongside T-Dog, she had made her first foray out into the real world. Her training began today.

True to her word, Michonne had knocked on Carol's door early that morning, dressed and equipped for travel, her sword strapped to her back. Still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Carol had excused herself for a moment and ducked back inside the RV to dress herself and gather her things. She hadn't meant to oversleep, but her first night without Daryl had been fitful and endless. She'd barely slept at all, and the few short hours she'd managed had been plagued with terrible nightmares. Even though they'd only shared it for a short while, the tiny bed had been cold and empty without him.

On her way out the door, Carol had opened one of the drawers by the kitchen sink and found Daryl's gun. Making sure the safety was on, she'd tucked it in the waistband of her pants, flinching as the cold metal came in contact with the delicate skin of her lower back. There were only two rounds left in the thing, but she'd wanted to bring it. Daryl would have insisted on it, had he been there, and considering what they were heading out to do, it hadn't been unreasonable to think that she might need it.

At least that's what she'd thought this morning, before Andrea had driven them out to the middle of nowhere, and Michonne had produced the blade from her rucksack.

"It's a machete," Michonne said, still insistently holding the handle out toward Carol. "Or rather, it's _your_ machete, so take it. Consider it a gift from me to you."

"I…don't understand," Carol said hesitantly, reluctant to take the blade from Michonne's hand. "I thought I was going to learn how to shoot?"

"You will," Michonne said, nodding her head once, "but you should know by now that you can't always rely a gun. Guns are loud, they draw walkers. Guns run out of ammo, and then they're useless. You need to know how to handle a melee weapon, for those times when you have to get up close and personal. The machete," she said, tilting the blade up to look at it admiringly, "it's a good choice for you. It's lightweight, it doesn't require any special skill or finesse to wield - it's all just basic hack and slash, really - and it has a long reach, so you don't have to get as close to your target as you would with, say, a buck knife. Like the one your redneck carries," she added, a note of distaste creeping into her voice.

"I wouldn't recommend aiming for the skull," she continued, holding the machete's handle out toward Carol once more, "not until you're stronger, at least. You don't want to lose your weapon because it's stuck in some geek's head. But you can certainly lop off arms, legs, heads… You might not get as many direct kills in, but you'll certainly incapacitate them, and that's worth a lot more than you'd think."

"I don't know about this," Carol said uncertainly, reaching out an unsteady hand to take the blade. She held it like she was afraid it might come to life and bite her. "I mean, I don't know that I'm physically capable."

"You're going to have to be," Michonne said dismissively, with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "Besides, we can work on that. You can build up your strength, a little at a time. And there's no time like the present to get started."

"The sooner the better, actually," Andrea chimed in. She was leaning back against the truck they'd come in, her arms crossed over her chest. "When we're finished here, we need to make a run into town."

Carol frowned slightly. "What for?" she asked. She didn't relish the idea - she'd heard Maggie saying just the other day that the nearest town was crawling with walkers.

"Ammo," said Andrea simply, offering Carol a thin smile. "Here's hoping the place hasn't been cleaned out already."

"Oh," Carol said flatly. Her voice sounded hollow, even to her own ears.

"Don't worry, it's nothing we can't handle," Andrea assured her, "But the fact is that we're running dangerously low on ammo already. Not only do we need to prepare for the attack on the prison, but if you want to learn how to shoot, we're going to need to stock up. Because as of right now, there's nothing to spare."

Carol looked down at the weapon in her hand, then back up at Andrea, her eyebrows knitted in concern. "I understand, but…"

"We're wasting time here," Michonne said crossly, drawing her sword from her back. "Did you come here to learn or not?"

"Well, yes, but… I don't know if I'm ready for _this_," Carol breathed, feeling her stomach lurch.

Michonne shook her head. Her mouth was drawn in a hard line of determination, but there was sadness in her eyes. "None of us were ready for this," she said evenly. "It happened anyway. If you're going to survive with us, then you need to stop making excuses and get to work."

Carol fell silent under Michonne's scrutiny, feeling small and ashamed. She thought about Daryl, and how he'd delivered himself into the hands of their enemies, putting his life on the line to keep their group safe. She thought about her little girl, and how she had been powerless to protect her, even from her own father. A hot swell of angry determination filled her chest, and her fingers flexed, tightening around the handle of the machete.

"Alright," she said finally, nodding her head as she looked down again at the blade in her hand, then back up at Michonne. "Let's do it."

They worked for hours, Michonne pushing her until her clothes were plastered to her body with sweat and her muscles felt like quivering blobs of jelly. She was shown where to position herself near an opponent so as to stay out of sight and out of reach. She learned where and how to swing her blade, to achieve critical amounts of damage while expending the least amount of energy. Finally, when the sun had reached the middle of the sky, Andrea declared that it was time to get moving, and the three of them piled into the truck.

Seated snugly in the middle of the cab, Carol felt weary and anxious as they made the long trek toward town. While she was grateful to have learned everything that Michonne had shown her that morning, she knew that they'd barely scratched the surface, and that practicing on hypothetical monsters would be nothing like facing them in person. But she had little choice in the matter, and Michonne had been right - none of them had been prepared for this.

Minutes passed, and houses began to crop up along the side of the road. Not long after that, they began to spot walkers. They were sparse on the very edge of town, but by the time they reached the commercial district, there were walkers everywhere. There weren't quite enough gathered together in any one area to block their passage or swarm the truck, but sitting idle or calling attention to themselves would have been incredibly dangerous. Luckily, it wasn't long before they drove past a store that looked promising. Stopping was not an option, of course, because it, too, had several walkers milling around it, but they were able to circle around twice and get a good look at the place before they attracted too much attention.

"How're we going to get in there?" Carol asked nervously as Andrea left the parking lot and went around the adjacent block.

"We'll need a diversion," said Andrea, "something to draw them off. I can drive to the other side of those buildings," she said, pointing to a series of shops a few blocks away, "I'll lay on the horn. When they start heading in my direction, you two can try to sneak in. I'll keep moving, and try to get them as far away as I can. After ten minutes, I'll circle back for you, so be quick. In, out, done."

"Are you sure that'll work?" Carol asked doubtfully, her voice shaking a little. A cold sweat was beginning to break out all over her body.

"It worked in Atlanta," was Andrea's only response, and it was clear by her tone that as far as assurances went, it wasn't going to get any better than that.

"Here," Michonne instructed as they circled around the block again, "You can drop us off behind those donation bins on the far end of the parking lot." She adjusted her rucksack on her shoulders, and with her hand already poised at the door handle, she turned to look at Carol. "Get ready," she instructed, "because once she stops we need to be out the door and low to the ground. Follow right behind me. Stay close, don't make a sound, and do exactly what I tell you, you got that? No hesitation. You hesitate and you're dead."

Carol's stomach was so uneasy that she felt on the verge of being sick, but she took a deep breath, clenched her jaw, and bobbed her head once in a firm nod.

"Good. Let's go."

The instant Andrea hit the brakes, Michonne was out the door. She moved so quickly that in her struggle to keep up, Carol didn't even have time to think. It wasn't until they were crouched together behind the bins, watching the truck drive off, that the full impact of what they were doing finally hit her - and by that point, it was too late to turn back. Her chest felt like it was closing up, squeezing a soft whimper, unbidden, from her throat.

"_Keep your shit together_," Michonne hissed under her breath. "_Any second now…_"

From a few blocks away, the harsh blare of the truck's horn cut through the quiet, and the nearby walkers began to groan and snarl. Carol clamped the hand that wasn't gripping the machete over her mouth. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she remained still, waiting for Michonne to move. They sat rooted, listening to the shuffling sounds of a dozen or more walkers passing within a few yards of their hiding spot and continuing on their way, toward the source of the noise.

As the shuffling and snarling sounds moved further away, Michonne peeked around the edge of the bin, then nodded back at Carol, giving the all-clear. They were on their feet and around the bins an instant later, running for the side of the building at a full tilt. They reached it in seconds, still alive, pressing their backs against the brickface.

"Keep your weapon up," Michonne whispered. "I'm going around the corner to try the door. Stay here."

Michonne practically vanished around that corner, and was back almost instantly, before Carol even had a chance to feel nervous about being left alone. In the midst of her terror, Carol found herself in awe of this amazing woman. In a world overrun by the dead, Michonne moved like a ghost.

"We're in," Michonne confirmed, before disappearing back around the corner. Saying a silent prayer, Carol followed close behind.

It was dark inside the store, much darker than it had been inside the truck stop. There were only a few windows, and those were blocked with large displays.

"Here," said Michonne, handing Carol a flashlight from her pack. "Keep the beam aimed low, we don't want to attract attention."

Their lights clicked on, cutting through the darkness to reveal the heads and bodies of big game trophies, staring blankly down at them with their shiny glass eyes from high on the walls and atop the display shelves.

"This has got to be one of the creepiest things I have ever seen," Michonne murmured, broken glass crunching under her boots.

The two jawless, dismembered walkers that Michonne had kept as bizarre 'pets' flashed into the forefront of Carol's mind, and she turned to stare incredulously at the other woman. Before she knew it, her mouth had pulled up into a wry smile.

"What?" Michonne asked, genuinely perplexed. Carol's smile widened, and she felt a sudden, surprisingly fierce rush of affection for her new teacher.

"Nothing," Carol said dismissively, shaking her head. "Come on, we'd better hurry."

"Check behind the counter," Michonne instructed, pointing to the back corner of the store with her katana, "that should be where they keep the ammo. I'll check the aisles, see if there's anything else worth taking."

Grabbing a duffel bag off a nearby self, Carol headed toward the register. But her heart sank a moment later when it became clear that they were not the first survivors to visit the store - apart from the dried-out husks of a few dead beetles, the shelves behind the counter were bare. Her suspicions were confirmed an instant later, when Michonne reappeared, her face drawn in a deep scowl.

"Anything?" she growled.

Carol shook her head sadly. "No."

"Shit," Michonne muttered darkly, "Cleaned out. What a fucking waste of time!"

They stood there silently for a moment, bitterly disappointed, then Michonne huffed and said, "Come on, let's get the hell out of here."

Clicking off their flashlights, the pair headed back the way they came. About a foot from the front door, however, Michonne put her hand out, keeping Carol back.

"Wait…" she said softly, leaning her head toward the door, "I think I hear something…"

There was a loud crash as a body collided with the door. Carol screamed in alarm, and Michonne jumped back. The walkers on the other side of the door began to bat at the smoked glass panels more vigorously, their loud groans no doubt attracting others. Like most shops, the double doors opened outward instead of in, but that was the only thing keeping them out.

Michonne turned on Carol, seething at her through clenched teeth, "_Did you just scream?_"

"I'm sorry," Carol whispered frantically, "It just came out!"

"Save it!" Michonne spat, grabbing Carol's arm. "Come on, there's got to be a back door to this place!"

"There is!" Carol yelped, racing down the aisle, hard on Michonne's heels. "I saw it when we circled in the truck!"

Past the register was a small break room. Wading through piles of clutter, they shoved aside mounds of empty boxes to discover a grey steel door with a dead latch push handle. All the pushing in the world yielded nothing, however; the door was bolted shut.

"Fuck!" Michonne swore furiously, then began scanning the room for another way out. "There!" she cried after a second, pointing to a small, rectangular window near the ceiling. With a wide sweep of her arm, she cleared the break room table.

"Grab an end!" she barked at Carol, and together they shoved the sturdy wooden table beneath the window, then climbed on top.

"There's just a pane of glass in here!" Carol cried, pounding on the window with her fist. "It doesn't open!"

"Oh, it's gonna open!" Michonne growled, jumping off the table. Carol stayed put, watching helplessly as Michonne ran from the room. There was a loud crash from the front of the store, and Michonne came running back, a fire extinguisher in her hands.

"We're out of time," she called, "they're almost through!" Leaping back up on the table top, she hoisted the fire extinguisher over her head and cried, "Out of the way!"

Carol backed away, and Michonne brought the blunt end of the fire extinguisher crashing into the window, shattering the glass. She ran the edge of the extinguisher around the frame of the window, trying to clear out any remaining shards, then dropped it to the floor and stuck her head through.

"We're in luck, it's clear out back," she said, "but with all this noise, it won't be for long. Be ready to run." Without waiting for an answer, Michonne wriggled headfirst out the window and slipped out of view. Carol gasped, peering out the window after her. She'd half expected to find Michonne laid out flat, her neck broken, but instead she found her crouched on the ground, keeping a lookout. There were a few thin rivulets of blood running down her forearms, but she seemed no worse for wear.

Michonne look up at her, beckoning with her hand. "Come on. Hurry!"

Carol looked down, gauging the drop. "I'm going to break my neck…" she said doubtfully.

"_They're_ going to rip you to shreds," Michonne whispered fiercely, "now move it!"

As if responding to Michonne's threat, there was another loud crash from the storefront, and the sounds that followed were unmistakable: The walkers had made it through the door. There was no more time to worry about the fall. She passed her machete down to Michonne, then, scrambling, she pulled herself up through the narrow window. Her overworked muscles screaming in protest, but once her torso was through, gravity did the rest. Michonne reached up for her just as she started to fall, trying to guide her down, but they landed hard together, in a jumble of limbs.

"You alright?" Michonne asked when she was able to draw a full breath again, and Carol found that, miraculously, she was. She was torn, bruised, and bloody, but nothing was broken.

"Yeah, I think so," she said, struggling to her feet. "Not sure I'll be able to move tomorrow, though."

"Worry about that tomorrow," Michonne said, handing her the machete. "Let's find Andrea."

They headed back toward the side of the building across from the donation bins, moving slowly and cautiously. Right at the corner was an abandoned Escalade, it's windows splashed with blood…from the inside. The rear passenger side door had been left open, and hanging out of it was the bottom half of a man. There was no top half. Trying their best to ignore the grisly scene, they ducked behind the SUV for cover. Carol watched the direction they had come from, while Michonne scanned the parking lot in front of them.

After a few tense moments, Michonne whispered, "There's the truck, right near the bins. It's pretty clear right now. If we make a run for it, we shouldn't have any problems."

Carol had only been half listening. Something inside the Escalade had caught her eye.

"Wait a second," she said absently, trying to peer through the layers of gore caked on the car's windows.

"What do you mean 'wait?'" Michonne asked angrily, glaring over at Carol. "We have to go _now_. Every second we stand here we run the risk of getting swarmed by those things."

Grimacing, Carol grabbed onto the hips of the mutilated half-man, pulling him out of the car and onto the ground. Gagging a bit at the stench, she climbed into the backseat of the Escalade, just as a trio of walkers rounded the corner at the far end of the building.

"What the hell are you doing?" Michonne demanded, "Let's go!"

On the backseat of the car were two large, black duffel bags. Grabbing the nearest one, Carol unzipped it and peered inside, trying hard not to think about why the zipper pull was so sticky to the touch.

When she saw what was inside the bag, her heart leapt.

"It's the ammo!" she cried, "They never made it out of the parking lot! It's all here! Guns, too, look!"

Carol's cries put the trio of walkers into a frenzy, and they started rushing towards them. Michonne ran back to meet them, dispatching them deftly with a few quick swipes of her sword.

The expression on her face was unmistakably furious as she approached the SUV, flicking blood and bits of brain matter from the end of her blade, but when she saw what Carol had found, that changed.

"Holy shit," she said, breaking into the first genuine smile that Carol ever seen on her, "you weren't kidding."

They each grabbed a bag and headed for the truck, running with every ounce of strength they had left. When they heard the groans, they knew they'd been spotted, but Andrea had spotted them, too, and the truck pulled forward to meet them. They threw the bags in the back, jumped into the cab, and the truck peeled out, racing away from the town and back toward the highway.

The entire ride home, they laughed like maniacs. Carol was certain that she hadn't hurt as badly or been as exhausted since the day she had given birth to Sophia, and just like that day, she couldn't think of another time when she'd felt as proud or as grateful. When they arrived back at camp, they were treated like returning heroes. She hadn't actually managed to defend herself or anyone else, but it didn't seem to matter. She'd done something incredibly important, something that could mean the difference between life and death for her people, and she had the battle scars to prove it. That evening, she sat by the fire while someone else prepared dinner for _her_, and for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel like anyone's burden. She had earned her place.

She didn't stay up for very long - her body ached, and her eyes were beginning to water before the sun had fully set. Excusing herself, she limped back to her trailer and collapsed into bed, only bothering to remove her shoes. She could feel herself slipping away before her head had even settled on the pillow.

The last conscious thought to drift through her mind was a snippet of verse; '_The sleep of a laborer is sweet…'_

Maybe, for once, she wouldn't have nightmares.

iiiii

Daryl came awake with a gasp, his heart pounding in his chest as he pulled in lungfuls of stale, dank air. His eyes had opened to utter darkness, so black he couldn't be certain that they'd opened at all, and still gripped by the faint remnants of his nightmare, he was disoriented, and couldn't remember where he was. He was having trouble breathing, and as he began to come around, he realized that a large hand was pressed firmly against his chest. His muscles tensed, ready to lash out, and the hand was replaced with a forearm, pushing him back down into the thin mattress of his bunk.

"Easy, Bucko," came Merle's gruff, familiar rasp, hissing in his ear.

Daryl remembered that he was in a prison cell, but not the one they'd put him in when he'd arrived. These were "the dormitories," as Frank had called them. This cell wasn't any different from the one they'd locked him in, but the door was open, and he was free to come and go.

And, of course, there was the matter of Merle sleeping in the bunk above him.

It had been presented to him harmlessly enough. It made perfect sense for him to share a cell with his brother, seeing as how they'd been recently reunited, and he was new to the place. Merle would be keeping an eye on him, of course, making sure that he was safe, and that nobody messed with him. Except it felt more like he was being kept under a close watch.

He couldn't blame them for being distrustful. In their position, he'd have been suspicious himself. If a bunch of his people had gone out raiding and never come back, then all of a sudden, some stranger showed up out of nowhere, wanting in…well, he supposed he should count himself lucky that they hadn't tied him up out back and started cutting on him. The sad irony was that for once in his life, he had Merle to thank.

"Get off me, I'm awake," Daryl grunted softly, trying to pry himself loose from the crushing grip of Merle's forearm. His eyes had adjusted some, and he could barely make out the shadowy edges of his brother's hulking form hovering above him.

"What's goin' on?" he asked irritably, the panic and confusion of his first waking moments giving way to annoyance. They weren't under attack - the place was too quiet - and they hadn't trusted him enough to put him on guard duty yet.

"Well? What do you want?" he grumbled when Merle didn't answer right away. "I'm tryin' to sleep."

"Yeah, I was tryin' to sleep, too," Merle whispered ruefully, with a shake of his head. "Everyone in this cell block is tryin' to sleep, but your caterwaulin's makin' it difficult."

"Don't bullshit," Daryl growled, shifting to his side.

"I ain't bullshittin,'" Merle protested, "You've turned into a loud sleeper, little man."

Daryl made a soft noise of derision, burrowing deeper into his blankets. "Psh. You're a loud sleeper. You snore like a fuckin' bear."

"And you used to whimper like a tiny baby girl," Merle countered. "But not tonight. So why don't you do us all a favor and shut the fuck up so everybody can get some shut eye? We got a big day tomorrow. We goin' huntin,' ain't we?"

Daryl felt like Merle had reached right into his ribcage and squeezed his heart, but he only grunted softly and said, "Yeah, that's right."

Merle seemed content with that response, and climbed back up into his bunk. He was silent for a good long while, but Daryl knew he wasn't asleep; he hadn't been kidding about the snoring. So he wasn't at all surprised when Merle softly called down, "By the way…"

"Yeah?" Daryl called back, unable to hide his weariness - or possibly unwilling.

"Oh, I was just wonderin'…" Merle said quietly, a playful lilt to his voice, "Who's Sophia?"


	15. Chapter 15

Throw Away: Do not eat.

Ember

Chapter 15 - Warmed Over

At first light, Merle hopped down from his bunk and woke Daryl with a friendly boot to the ass. After the ensuing scuffle and a quick piss, they fell in with a group of men heading down to the mess hall for some breakfast. The set-up was almost identical to high school, from what Daryl could remember; there were dozens of square tables with benches attached, and a long, stainless steel cafeteria counter. They grabbed their trays, got in line, and eventually some grim-faced bastard plopped steaming piles of brown and gray shit onto them.

"Grits, hash, oatmeal, beans," Merle said sagely, pointing to each of the blobs on his plate, but had he said nothing, Daryl wouldn't have even bothered to ask.

"At this point, I'd eat a turd," he grumbled, taking a cardboard cup filled with coffee from a table at the end of the line. He'd been getting accustomed to going without food for long stretches of time, but the way he was feeling this morning made him wonder just how long he'd been down in that dank hole. Had it been hours, or had he lost an entire day? He couldn't be sure, and this troubled him.

"Well, you are in luck," Merle said good-naturedly, "because that's exactly what it tastes like."

"Just like Ma used to make," Daryl muttered, walking over to take a seat at one of the empty tables in the corner, far from the other 'inmates.'

Merle whistled through his teeth and smiled, taking the seat across from him. "Hoo, ain't we in a bitchy little mood today? What's the matter, darlin,' you on your period?"

Daryl grimaced, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. After the rude awakening Merle had given him the night before, he'd been too wound up to fall back asleep. He was afraid of what he might let slip if he started dreaming again. He'd never known himself to be a talker, but maybe the stress of the mission, or the environment itself, was starting to take its toll on him. So instead of getting some much needed rest, he'd lain awake for hours, listening to his brother's snoring while his stomach twisted in knots. He'd only just passed out from exhaustion when Merle's boot had sent him careening off the end of his bunk.

"Just tired," Daryl grunted, picking up his spoon and shoveling a clump of mushy, brown hash into his mouth. The stuff looked and smelled like dog food, but it wasn't as bad as all that. Nothing to get excited about, but it was hot, probably the most food he'd had on his plate in a long while.

"Those dreams about your girlfriend keepin' you up all night?" Merle asked, extending his index finger and holding it rigid, pointed up towards the ceiling.

Daryl's skin prickled, but he kept right on eating, his eyes glued to his plate. "Fuck off," he said evenly, "I told you, it was just a stupid dream. Probably heard the name once and my brain just spat it out. You know how that is."

"Yeah, I know how that is," Merle agreed, and to Daryl's relief, he let the subject drop and tucked into his own breakfast.

Enjoying the brief silence that Merle's chewing afforded him, Daryl began to look around the cafeteria. There were about fifteen other men eating with them, most of them grouped together at the other tables, talking and occasionally laughing.

"This everybody?" Daryl asked, gesturing toward the others.

Merle looked back over his shoulder. "Nah," he said, "there's always a few more out in the guard towers, and we got some others…well, you'll see 'em runnin' around."

Daryl swallowed a mouthful of the tepid coffee, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "So when am I gonna get a tour of this place?"

Merle shrugged. "Maybe later, when we get back. Frank wants us to head out first thing."

Daryl quickly scanned the room again. "Where _is_ Frank?" he asked.

Merle shrugged again. "Probably already et and gone. He's usually the first one in here. But don't worry your pretty little head, you'll be seein' him soon enough. He wanted me to bring you 'round before we head out today, have ourselves a little pow-wow."

Daryl frowned. "Yeah, about that… Just how many people are goin' out with us?"

"Not too many," Merle assured him, "'Bout eight or so, I'd reckon."

"I'd do better alone," Daryl said, shaking his head. "I don't need a gang of idiots followin' me around, tamplin' all over the place and muckin' up the trail."

"Nice way to talk about your new posse," said a deep voice from behind Daryl's left shoulder. There was a subtle shift in Merle's face, he noticed - a stiffness in the jaw that hadn't been there a moment before - as Abraham set his tray down beside Daryl's.

"Morning, boys," he said casually, helping himself to a packet of salt off of Daryl's tray, like they were old friends.

"Well, if it isn't Sergeant Slaughter," Merle said, mock saluting with his stump.

At well over six feet and easily three hundred pounds of muscle, Abraham was not the sort of fellow Daryl would have wanted to tangle with, but Merle had never been one to give a flying fuck about who he pissed off or pissed on. Luckily, Abraham seemed to think nothing of it, and simply nodded at Merle as he sprinkled the salt onto his grits. He even added an, "At ease, private," for good measure.

Daryl silently turned back to his breakfast, figuring a full mouth was his safest bet. But Abraham wasn't so easily dissuaded, and after watching him thoughtfully for a few moments, he said, "So, kid, how are you finding the place?"

Daryl grunted. "Just 'cause I'm the younger brother don't make me a kid. I'm pushin' forty at this point."

Merle snorted, raising his eyebrows. "You been pushin' that for a few years now, ain'tcha? When's it gonna roll over?"

Daryl hid his smirk behind the lip of his coffee cup. "Any day now," he said, taking a sip.

"You're older than I figured," Abraham said with an approving nod.

Daryl tilted his head toward Merle. "Yeah, well, bein' around this ugly son of a bitch makes me look pretty by comparison."

This was rewarded with an evil grin from Merle. "I wouldn't go advertisin' if I were you, Bucko. I know this is your first time in prison, so I'm gonna let you in on a little secret - you know what they do to the pretty ones in here?" At that, both of the older men burst out laughing, and Daryl reluctantly cracked a half-smile.

When he'd caught his breath, Abraham clapped him on the back and said, "Don't listen to your brother. Seems to me like you're going to do just fine in here. But you should definitely meet the other guys - they'll stop treating you like a stranger the minute you stop acting like one."

"Yeah, well, I ain't used to bein' around lots of people," Daryl confessed, poking at his food with his spoon. "I do better on my own."

Abraham nodded. "That's what you were saying before. And I'm sure once Frank feels like he can trust you, and when you're heading out to smaller, more remote places, it won't be as much of an issue. But the town we're heading to today has got a lot of dead people wandering around in it, and it isn't practical for you to go in alone. We wouldn't want to lose you so soon, now would we?"

"Don't worry, little man," Merle added, pointing at Daryl with his fork, "I'll make sure those other fellas stay out of your way. Findin' that other group is right at the top of my 'to do' list."

"Now that's something your brother and I can both agree on," Abraham said firmly. "We've lost a lot of good men over the last few weeks."

Daryl nodded, remembering how Carol had clung to him that first night she'd invited him into her bed, how he'd held her body tight to his chest as she'd shook with grief and fear. All because of one of these 'good men.'

"I'll do the best I can," he said after a moment, when it looked like Abraham was expecting some sort of answer from him.

As he resumed eating, he could feel Abraham watching him out of the corner of his eye, but eventually the large man said, "I'm sure you will," and turned back to his grits.

Daryl sighed through his nose. He had a feeling that it was going to be a hell of a long day.

iiii

Carol squeezed the trigger, and the glass bottle resting on the hood of the abandoned car exploded.

Andrea let out a whoop of appreciation, jumping up and pumping her fist in the air. "Yeah!" she cried, "That's what I'm talking about!"

They were back on the deserted highway, putting the ammo they'd recovered the day before to good use. Today, as promised, Carol was learning how to shoot.

"See?" Andrea said, gently hitting her on the arm, "I knew you could do it!"

Carol blushed, but was unable to suppress the happy grin pulling at the corners of her mouth. "It's just a bottle," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "It's not like it was moving or anything."

"Hey, don't sell yourself short," Andrea scolded, walking over to set an aluminum can where the bottle had been sitting before, "an hour ago you couldn't even hit the bottle. This is definite progress. Before you know it you'll be shooting squirrels out of the trees. Daryl won't know what to do with himself."

Carol laughed out loud. "I doubt it! But it doesn't matter, I just want to be able to get in a head shot from a safe distance."

"You'd be one up on me," said Michonne, who was stretched out in the bed of the truck with her eyes closed, resting in the sunlight like a languid cat. "I've never fired a gun at anything in my life."

"Unfortunately, it's not the sort of thing you can practice, is it?" Carol asked, furrowing her brow. "Not without actively seeking out trouble."

Andrea shook her head. "Shane had me practice on a log swinging from a tree…but you're right, it wasn't the same. I didn't start improving on moving targets until, well… my targets were actually moving toward me."

"The thought alone is terrifying," Carol said with a shiver of revulsion.

As soon as the words had left her mouth, there was a rustling noise from the overgrowth on the other side of the highway. The women turned at the sound, and Carol blanched, looking to Andrea for guidance.

"Alright, stay calm," Andrea said softly, pointing at the spot where the deep brush had started moving. "You've got a lot of distance, and Michonne and I are both here to back you up. You wanted a moving target, right? Well this is the perfect time for you to try it out."

Carol felt unsure, but she raised her gun to eye level and pulled the hammer back.

"Nice and easy…" Andrea whispered, "Wait until you can see it…"

Whatever Carol had been expecting, it wasn't what happened next. A large, black man came stumbling out of the bushes, his arms raised over his head. He was built like a brick wall, almost as wide as he was tall, and covered in the kind of muscle that only came from years of dedicated bodybuilding. His hair was closely cropped, but he had a week-long stubble going, and his clothes were worn and dirty. It looked like he'd been living on the road for quite some time.

"Don't shoot!" he cried, stopping at the edge of the road. "Please! We're alive and unarmed!"

"Don't lower your gun," Michonne warned, grabbing her katana and climbing out of the bed of the truck.

A second later, the man was joined by two young teenagers. The girl had long, curly, brown hair that was tangled up with the occasional leaf or burr, and though her features were a bit more delicate, there was no denying the family resemblance. The boy beside her was another story. Slight, white and bespectacled, he looked out of place standing on the side of the road with this imposing man and his daughter. Be that as it may, the man stepped forward, putting himself between Carol's gun and the teens.

"Ladies, please!" he called to them, "We're not a threat! I'm just trying to find food and shelter for these kids."

Carol kept her weapon up like Michonne had instructed, but she shot Andrea a pleading look. Sighing, Andrea drew her gun, training it on the big man's head.

"Michonne?" she called back over her shoulder.

Michonne grunted in disgust. "Alright." At a slow, even pace, she approached the small group, sword in hand. After a few minutes of searching, she removed a hammer from the man's back pants pocket, then called back, "This is all. They're clean."

Andrea lowered her gun, but did not holster it. Carol followed her lead.

"I'm sorry," the man apologized, lowering his arms. "We didn't mean to startle you, but we've been wandering for over a week, and our food's run out. We heard the shots, and we came to see if we could find help."

Andrea frowned at the man. "You heard shots and came running in this direction? Are you out of your mind?"

The big man lowered his head, and actually managed to look sheepish. "Well…to be honest, we weren't going to come out until we saw what kind of people we were dealing with, but when I saw that you were all women, I thought…" he trailed off, and shrugged his broad shoulders.

"You're not helping your case any," Michonne spat at him, her sword held at the ready. "You don't know us. You may be a big fellow, but trust me, we are not to be trifled with."

"I don't want any trouble, believe me," the man pleaded, his eyebrows drawn in concern. "That's the last thing I want. We wouldn't even be out here if we had any other choice. Please, we're desperate."

The three women looked at each other, unsure of how to proceed. In the brief silence that followed, the girl standing behind the big man began to cry. The boy put his arms around the girl and held her close, glaring over the top of her head at them.

Carol felt her heart clench in her chest. "Honey, are you alright?" she called, trying her best to ignore the dirty look that garnered from Michonne.

"She's hungry and scared," the man called back, putting a protective arm around the young couple. "Please, either help us or let us be on our way. We won't trouble you any."

Carol turned to Andrea, and said quietly, "We can't just leave them out here. There isn't anything for miles, and with no food or weapons, they'll die."

Andrea nodded, her face drawn. "I know," she whispered, "But we don't know these people, and we don't have much back at the camp to spare as it is."

"He has children," Carol pleaded. "It wouldn't be right…"

While Andrea was considering this, Michonne had backed away from the small family and sidled up to them.

"I don't like the idea of bringing on new people," she said in a low voice, "but I will say this; that guy looks strong. And they've been wandering around in the open for over a week, armed with nothing but a hammer. With everything we've got going on, we could use a guy like that."

"I think at the very least we should bring them back to camp and let Rick decide," Carol pointed out.

Andrea was silent for a moment, but then she said, "You're right," and with that, she holstered her gun.

"Alright," she called over to the small group, still waiting patiently on the other side of the road for their fate to be decided. "Come on, we'll take you back to our camp. You can meet the guy in charge, and we'll see about getting you something to eat."

The man was visibly relieved - the tension seemed to slide right off his back - and the girl stopped her crying. Given the go-ahead, they finally stepped onto the road and crossed it, joining the three women by the truck. Andrea lowered the tailgate for them, made a sweeping 'right this way' gesture with her hand, then joined Michonne in the cab of the truck. Carol hung back, making sure that everyone made it in alright.

"I can't thank you enough," the man said as he climbed into the bed of the truck, taking a seat beside the young girl.

Carol smiled. She'd already decided that she liked him - his voice was deep and pleasant, and he seemed to exude a quiet friendliness.

"We've often had to rely on the kindness of strangers ourselves," she said, closing the tailgate behind them. "You seem like good people."

The man smiled back, a truly dazzling sight. "Thank you, Ma'am. You seem like good people, too. I'm sorry, we didn't introduce ourselves before. My name's Tyreese, and these two are Julie and Chris."

"Pleased to meet you," Carol said gently, nodding at the boy and girl in turn. Then, returning her attention to Tyreese, she asked. "Are you her father? I wouldn't want to assume, the way things are nowadays."

"No, I understand completely," Tyreese said kindly. "Yes, Julie is my daughter, and Chris here is her boyfriend. He was staying at our place when everything…" he trailed off for a second, struggling to find the right words to describe what she already understood perfectly, before finally settling on, "when everything went crazy."

Carol blinked up at him, her smile faltering a bit. "You're lucky to have each other," she said, hugging her arms to her body. "I lost my daughter recently. She was a bit younger than yours, still a child, but…" Carol stopped herself. Now was not the time to start picking at wounds that were still healing. Not in the middle of this deserted highway, with a man she hardly knew.

"Well," she said after a moment, forcing a brave smile, "she's in a better place, now. I have to believe that."

Tyreese looked at her quietly for a moment, with sympathy in his eyes. "I'm so sorry for you loss," he said softly.

Carol nodded, and said in a small voice, "Thank you. I'm sorry, too, we've only just met and here I am dumping, all of this on you. I must seem crazy."

"Not at all," Tyreese assured her. Then, his face lighting up again, he added, "By the way, I didn't catch your name." It was an innocent statement, but the way he said it made Carol's cheeks flush.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said quickly, embarrassed by her own thoughtlessness. "It's Carol. My friends in the cab are Andrea and Michonne."

"Michonne's the one with the sword," Tyreese said, looking slightly troubled. She nodded.

"Yes, and Andrea's the one driving."

As if summoned, Andrea gave the truck's horn a short, sharp tap, startling Carol and making her jump.

"Sometime today?" she called, leaning out the truck's window.

Slightly mortified, Carol quickly excused herself and climbed into the cab of the truck, sliding in next to Michonne. Andrea started up the engine, then glanced over at Carol as she shifted the truck into drive.

"Making friends?" she asked.

Carol looked down at her hands, fidgeting nervously in her lap. "He seems nice," she said softly.

Michonne chuckled, looking over her shoulder at the back of Tyreese's head, resting on the rear windshield.

"Mm. I'll say."

Andrea raised an eyebrow, putting her hand on Michonne's knee and gently squeezing. "Hey now…" she said, with just a touch of irritation in her voice.

"Just looking," Michonne said innocently, and the three women snorted with laughter.

"Alright, I'll admit, he's easy on the eyes," Andrea said grudgingly, trying not to smile, "but that's no reason to let our guard down. We don't know these people at all."

Carol glanced into the rearview mirror, studying the small group in the back of the truck as best she could. Tyreese had his arm around Julie, and was resting his head on top of hers while Chris sat close beside them, watching the scenery pass.

"They're just normal people, like the rest of us," Carol said quietly, her eyes fixed on Julie and Tyreese.

"Carol…" Andrea said gently, "I'm not saying that you're wrong, just that we have to be careful. Yes, they seem very nice, but I'd think that you, of all people, would know by now that what you see isn't always what you get."

Carol wasn't entirely sure if Andrea was alluding to Ed or Daryl, but she suddenly felt tired, and slightly foolish.

"Of course, you're right," she sighed. Crossing her arms over her chest, she turned away from the others to stare out the window.

It bothered her how easily she'd let her guard down with Tyreese. Andrea was right; just because a man had a child didn't make him a good person. Her marriage to Ed should have been proof enough of that. And if someone had told her back at the start, back at the refugee camp outside of Atlanta, that in only a few months time she'd come to love the younger of the Dixon brothers… Well, she'd have been repulsed by the very idea. But while Ed had been much less than he had appeared, Daryl had been so much more. She wondered what he was doing at that very moment. She prayed he was safe, and that the next few days would pass quickly so that she could see him again and be sure. And as she had so many times before, she wondered if he felt the same.


	16. Chapter 16

Exclaimer!

Ember

Chapter 16 - Sifting Through the Ashes

Crouched on the ground amidst a scattering of blood and broken glass, Daryl looked down at the tiny scrap of fabric in his hand, and tried not to react.

"Whatcha got there, bucko?" Merle asked, coming up behind him to peer over his shoulder. Daryl curled his fingers around the cloth, hiding it in his fist.

"Looks like someone's been here recently," he said, pointing out the small spatters of blood in amongst the glass. "Whoever it was must've gotten pinned down inside the building, had to break out through there."

Merle followed Daryl's gaze upward, to the small, rectangular window above them. "Had to have been a woman then, or a kid," he said. "Or maybe some skinny little Chinaman?" His mouth curved up in a predator's grin.

Daryl couldn't help but wince, and was glad that Merle couldn't see his face. "Someone small," he agreed, "But why d'you keep insistin' that it's the Atlanta group we're lookin' for? That'd be awfully convenient, don't you think?"

"'Bout as convenient as runnin' into my little brother, fifty miles from where we parted ways," Merle said with a shrug, that troubling smile still plastered on his face.

"Yeah, but I was lookin' for you," Daryl said with a frown, rising to his feet. "It ain't the same."

Merle leaned back against the side of the building. "Dare to dream, little man, dare to dream," he sang, hooking his thumb in his belt, right beside the pistol that was tucked into his waistband. His other arm was left to dangle at his side. Before leaving the armory, Daryl had watched Merle attach a knife to the end of his stump, like a bayonet. While he couldn't deny that it was both resourceful and threatening as hell, it seemed like more of a liability than anything else. Merle had to be overly aware of where his right arm was at any given moment, for fear of accidentally cutting himself on the damned thing. In fact, the whole set-up seemed to Daryl like a cumbersome pain in the ass, but this was an observation he'd decided to keep to himself.

"There's a faint blood trail here," Daryl said, trying to shift the focus back to the task at hand. "I could try followin' it, see where it leads. We could also try checkin' inside this store, see if that tells us anything. What do you think?" he asked, trying to keep Merle engaged. He wanted to be convincing, to look like he was really trying.

"Follow that trail, boy. Put that Dixon know-how to good use and make me proud," Merle said dismissively, with a wave of his arm. He was already sounding bored with the whole thing.

From down the street, the whoops and hollers of the other men could be plainly heard, along with the ceaseless squealing of tires and revving of engines. There were ten of them, not counting himself and Merle, and they were using their pick-up trucks to keep the walkers at bay, circling them like cattle. But mostly they were shooting up the place, and making a lot of noise. Merle stared listlessly off into the distance, and it was obvious that he'd rather be out raising hell with the others than watching Daryl do this tedious legwork. But wrangling the men had been Abraham's job, and so the task of watching Daryl had fallen to Merle; and for the first time in his life, he had to stick with it. Not that Daryl wanted him there. Having Merle breathing down his neck had put him on edge since they'd arrived, and it had only gotten worse when he'd discovered the broken window. As for the others, they were loud and stupid, but he had to admit that, so far, they'd been effective, and for the most part had stayed out of his way. More like avoided him, to be honest, but that didn't bother him any.

Of course, he planned on telling a very different story to Frank when they got back. What Frank would hear instead was how it had been damned near impossible to concentrate on anything with Merle crawling halfway up his ass, and Abraham's passel of brats making a big old rowdy mess of things. When they'd met up in the armory earlier that morning, Daryl had made a point of telling the man the same thing he'd told Merle and Abraham at breakfast - he worked better alone. Frank had given him pretty much the same answer as the other two, but had promised that if Daryl could deliver results, he'd take the matter into consideration. The message had been clear as day; if he wanted to go out alone, he'd have to prove himself. In the meantime, he'd been saddled with ten heavily-armed idiots in four trucks, and been told to concentrate their efforts on the most likely places the other survivors might haunt - grocery stores, gas stations, sporting goods stores and the like. The whole thing was one giant cluster fuck, but at least one good thing had come out of it - Daryl had left the armory with his knife in his belt and his bow strapped to his back.

The ride into town had given him just enough time to start really worrying about what the hell he was going to do if they actually came across something, or worse, some_one_. They'd hit the grocery store first, which, to Daryl's great relief, had yielded nothing. He hadn't been all that surprised, though, because he seemed to recall that his people had been unwilling to venture that far into town, due to the sheer volume of walkers, and had stuck to raiding houses and smaller shops on the outskirts.

Merle had suggested that they try the gun store next, which is where he'd found the busted window and the blood. Even so, it probably wouldn't have held his attention long enough for Merle to take notice, if it hadn't been for the scrap of fabric he'd found caught on a shard of glass. Fabric that was an exact match to the shirt he had on his back. He'd left an identical one on the floor of Carol's RV.

Daryl rubbed the soft, gray fabric with his thumb, then tucked it into his pants pocket. The faint blood trail petered out pretty quickly, beside an SUV with the bottom half of a corpse rotting beside it. Streak marks in the blood on the leather interior indicated that someone had climbed inside the thing, but from there the trail went cold.

Daryl made an effort to breathe slowly, trying to remain calm. It couldn't be a coincidence. What the fuck had Andrea been thinking? _This_ was keeping her safe? Bringing her to this place? He didn't need anyone to spell out what had happened here, the evidence was all around him. She'd been trapped inside that store, walkers banging down the front doors, and she'd had to break that back window to escape. She'd hurt herself climbing out - though not too badly, judging by the small amount of blood. Had she broken or twisted anything when she hit the pavement? Had she even made it out of town? What if she was out there right now, shuffling around? Just another geek that those idiots were shooting up… There was no way of knowing for sure, and there was fuck-all he could do about it.

Daryl cursed softly under is breath, balling his left hand into a fist so tight that his fingernails began to cut painful crescents into his palm. This was the last thing he needed to be thinking about at the moment. Those goddamn women were going to be the death of him.

As Daryl approached the storefront, Merle appeared, stepping out through the smashed-in double doors.

"Ain't nothin' useful in there," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the mess behind him. "No guns, no ammo, not even a titty mag. Nothin.'"

Before Daryl could respond, a scream split the air, followed by the obvious sounds of commotion and mass confusion coming from down the street. Without a word, the brothers raced towards the source, coming upon the rest of their group gathered in a large circle in the middle of the road. At the center of the circle was a pale, young man with hair the color of straw. He was clutching at his neck, his fingers slippery with his own blood.

"What happened?" Daryl gasped to the man nearest him, some lanky fellow with dark hair and a pock-marked face.

"Scutter got bit," he said simply, his eyes as devoid of expression as a steer heading up the kill chute. "He was fuckin' around with one of them geeks and he got bit."

"What do you mean, 'fuckin' around?" Daryl asked hotly, his eyes flickering back and forth between the space cadet he was talking with and the young man bleeding out in the center of the ring. Pock-marks shrugged.

"Just havin' a bit of fun, is all," he said absently, "Tauntin' 'em. Fuckin' around, you know."

The kid in the circle was stumbling about in disbelief, his eyes wide as saucers, pleading for his life. When he started calling for his Mama, the others began to laugh. Daryl scanned the circle for Abraham, wondering where he was and why he was letting this go on, but he couldn't find the man.

The laughter turned uglier, and the circle of idiots began to openly taunt the dying kid, yelling things like, "I got your mama right here, Scut," and "What a fucking idiot!" But when two of them stepped into the circle with knives in their hands, Daryl couldn't sit back and watch anymore. As the pair with knives closed in, there was a zip and a thunk, and Scutter fell to the ground, the tail end of Daryl's bolt sticking out of the side of his head. The taunts stopped immediately, and a hushed silence fell over the group as Daryl stepped through the ring to retrieve it.

Daryl kept his eyes fixed on the dead kid in the center of the ring, but he could feel the weight of everyone else's gaze pressing down on him. When he reached the body, he put his boot on the side of the kid's face and jerked the bolt out in one solid, clean movement. Then, and only then, did he look up, glancing around at the men surrounding him. Some looked shocked, but others seemed pissed. Staring right back, his face expressionless, he pulled the rag from his back pocket, and calmly wiped the kid's blood and brains off the end of the bolt. Then gesturing with it, he frowned and barked at them, "Show's over. Get back to work."

The crowd dispersed in a hurry, leaving him alone with Merle and Abraham, who it seemed had finally materialized.

"Where the hell were you?" Daryl asked him evenly, acting much less angry than he felt.

"I was taking care of the geek that bit Scutter," he explained. "I got here just in time to see you taking care of him."

"There's no point in drawin' it out," Daryl said dismissively. "We ain't got time for this schoolyard bullshit."

Abraham stared at him for a long moment, as if sizing him up. Daryl seemed to recall that he'd done the same thing at breakfast.

"It was a kindness," Abraham said finally, as though he'd made up his mind about it, and leaving it at that, he followed after his crew.

Daryl watched him for a moment, then turned back to Merle, who was looking mighty pleased with himself.

"You handled that well, little brother," he said, clapping Daryl on the shoulder with his good hand. "Nice clean take-down. No muss, no fuss."

Daryl tasted bile in his mouth and swallowed it back down, forcing a crooked smile onto his face.

"Thanks, Merle," he murmured, and tucked the bloody rag into his back pocket.

iiiii

When the convoy arrived back at the prison, Abraham pulled Daryl away from the others and said, "Come on, Frank's going to want to see you right away."

Glancing back at Merle, who only offered a faint shrug, Daryl followed reluctantly, walking out of the open air of the yard and into the gloomy, narrow confines of the prison. He'd half expected Merle to follow along, but instead his brother hung back in the yard with the others, cracking jokes.

When they are alone, and had passed out of earshot, Daryl said to Abraham, "You know, I never had no babysitter growin' up. Now it seems like I got two. Do all the new fellas gotta go through this crap, or am I just one of the lucky ones?"

"You're a victim of the times, I'm afraid," Abraham said regretfully. "Back when our only enemies were the geeks, all you needed to do was prove that you weren't bitten, and you were in, simple as that. Out there, on the road, there was safety in numbers. We needed every able-bodied man we could find. But things are different now. For the first time in a long time, we've got a real, living threat out there, and more importantly, we finally have something to lose, something other groups would be willing to kill for. So unfortunately, we can't be as trusting as we might want to be. In fact, you're very lucky your brother was already established in here. We're not currently 'accepting new members.'"

Daryl was quiet for a moment, waiting to see if Abraham was going to offer up anything else. When that didn't happen, he said cautiously, "Hey…I been meanin' to ask you somethin.' Noticed it when I first arrived."

"Shoot," said Abraham.

"There's no women in here. With a group this big, you'd think there'd be some. Why is that?" he asked.

Daryl didn't think it was his imagination that Abraham seemed to pause a bit before answering.

"Couldn't tell you," the man finally said with a shrug. "Luck of the draw, I guess. We were like a snowball at first, picking up loners everywhere we went, and all of them guys. I guess by now, if any women saw us coming, they'd hide, don't you think? I would, in their position. A group of rowdy guys, no laws… A smart woman's gonna lay low until they pass on."

Daryl grunted in response. Abraham sounded like he honestly believed what he was saying, but everything Daryl had learned about this group up until now told him that this was bullshit. They both fell silent for a while after that, lost in their own thoughts. As they began turning down unfamiliar corridors, Daryl tried to take in everything, committing it all to memory. Almost every adjacent corridor they passed was open and empty, but in one particularly grim-looking hallway, there was a set of double doors that were closed up tight, with a heavy chain and padlock to keep them that way.

"What's down there?" Daryl asked, furrowing his brow. There was something undeniably suspicious about a big, locked door with a heavy chain. These days, you never knew if it was meant to keep people out, or to keep something else in.

"That's just one of those areas we haven't completely cleared out yet," Abraham said, not bothering to slow down or even look. "But don't worry about it, we've got it under control."

Daryl frowned. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. Maybe there were walkers down there, or maybe that's where they were keeping the women. Or both. Maybe when they were through with the girls, they threw them in there with the walkers. That might explain what that rat-faced son of a bitch had been going on about when he'd first arrived. The kid had said they should throw him to the 'lame-brains' and be done with it, but there hadn't been any geeks around the prison, not since this group had taken it over. In any case, this was one area he was going to have to investigate further. It was like they'd put a neon sign on the door, with a huge red arrow pointing to it.

"Right up here," Abraham said suddenly, bringing Daryl back out of his head. They climbed up a narrow, metal staircase, turned a corner, and a few feet ahead of them, a heavy wooden door came into view. Across the front, the word, "WARDEN" was stenciled in gold letters. Daryl wasn't at all surprised. He didn't know much about the man, but even from the little he gleaned off Merle and Abraham, it seemed fitting. The door was opened a crack, and with their footsteps being the only sound in the entire wing, Frank must have heard them coming from a long way off, but Abraham stopped before entering anyway, rapping lightly on the door with his knuckle.

"Hey Frank," he called, "I've brought Dixon."

From behind the door came a shuffling noise, and then Frank called back, "It's open, boys, come on in."

Frank was standing at the window with his back to them, behind a large wooden desk, looking out through a set of blinds into the yard. He didn't turn to look at them until they had completely entered the room, like something out of an old movie. In fact, Daryl thought the whole thing felt a little rehearsed. The office, the window, even the man's smile. Frank was playing a part. He supposed that made two of them.

"So tell me, Daryl," Frank said, sitting down on the edge of the desk. "What have you got to report?"

Daryl swallowed. Now it was his turn to act. "Well, I had a hell of a time finding anything, what with all the distractions from your happy bunch of commandos," he said, looking toward Abraham out of the corner of his eye, "but I can place livin' people in that town within the last couple of days, and I'm not talkin' our guys. I'm thinkin' there was at least one woman there; someone small, but strong, had to shimmy outta a pretty tight spot."

"Sounds promising," said Frank, "At least we know they're still kicking around. What's our next move, do you think? In your professional opinion."

Daryl glanced over at a large map of the area that was pinned to the wall. "D'you mind?" he asked, nodding at the map.

Frank shook his head. "Please, be my guest."

Cutting across the room, Daryl walked over to the map and studied it for a few moments. Frank and Abraham slowly came forward to join him, waiting patiently beside him.

"Alright," he said, running his finger along the surface of the map, "We know they're not in town, but they've gotta be somewhere nearby, somewhere that your men haven't come across yet. I wanna check out this large patch of woods, here," he said, tracing a circle around a large, green area on the map, not far from the town, but in the other direction, away from the RV park. "Let's see if they're hidin' out in there. Might be they got a camp set up."

Frank looked dubious. "Hiding out in the middle of the woods? You really think they'd do that?"

"Why not?" Daryl asked. "You haven't been able to find them on the roads, and there ain't a lot of geeks in the woods - they tend to stay near towns. See here," he said, pointing back to the map, "There's a small river that cuts right through it. Water's crucial. Apart from the obvious, water draws animals, which means huntin,' fishin' and the like. Shit, that's what Merle and I would do. That's what we were doin' with that Atlanta group before it went sour, and if Merle's right, and those are the same people we're dealin' with, then it stands to reason that they'd be stickin' to what they know."

Frank smiled, gripping Daryl by the shoulder. "Alright, I like this plan! And Daryl, I'm going to let you spearhead it. Abraham here can pick out some guys for your team. No more than five this time, I should say. Let's keep it nice and low-key."

"Hey, look, no offense, but I ain't goin' into those woods with your boys," Daryl said, shrugging Frank's hand off his shoulder. "I'm goin' in alone, or I ain't goin' in at all."

Frank's smile dropped by a fraction. "We've been over this," he said calmly, his voice low and even.

"Yeah, we have," Daryl said, getting slightly defensive, "But I brought you results. And I'm tellin' you that these boys are only gonna slow me down and get in my way. I'm not takin' responsibility for them out in those woods, not after what I seen today."

Frank frowned and turned to Abraham, as though looking for an answer.

"There was an incident in town today," the big man said quietly, shaking his head. "We lost Scutter."

Before Frank could open his mouth to ask what had happened, Daryl launched right into an explanation. "Those guys were messin' around out there, shootin' the place up like it was the old west. They weren't bein' careful, and that kid Scutter wound up gettin' bit. Pretty bad, too, poor son of a bitch was bleedin' out right in front of us. Only, instead of puttin' him down, your boys were makin' a game out of it. I had to get in there and put the kid down myself."

Frank sighed wearily, as if he'd expected as much. "That is unfortunate," he said. "But you've seen how things are now. How the world is… Sometimes they've just got to let off a little bit of steam, or else they'll boil over."

Daryl tried to keep the disgust he was feeling from showing plainly on his face.

"Look, I'm not trying to tell you how to run things here," he said slowly, "But when I'm tracking in the woods I need it to be quiet, without distractions, so I can focus. I can't be babysittin' a bunch of green idiots. If you want results, I need to go in alone. It's as simple as that."

"He handled himself well today, Frank," Abraham chimed in, rushing to his defense. "Especially with Scutter. If you want my opinion, I'd say he's proven himself."

Frank smiled. "Of course I want your opinion, Abraham," he said, sitting back down on the edge of the desk. "And if you say he's solid, then he's solid. Besides," he continued, shifting his gaze onto Daryl, "He wouldn't run off without his brother, would he? Not after going to such great lengths to find him."

Frank gave Daryl a long, hard look, and Daryl felt a strange fluttering from his insides, like something was bubbling it's way up. Did Frank just try to use Merle to threaten him? This man couldn't possibly be serious?

"Yeah, that's right," Daryl agreed, after a moment. What the hell else was he supposed to say?

"Alright, Dixon," Frank said, seemingly convinced. "I like a man of conviction, and Abraham here seems to have really taken a shine to you. When did you want to head out?"

"I was thinkin' the day after tomorrow. Gives me some time to plan out how I want to go about this, and gather together some supplies, because once I'm out there, it might be a few days before I get back. I'll have to do the whole thing on foot," Daryl explained.

Franks seemed agreeable. He didn't even blink when Daryl mentioned that he might be gone for more than a day. "Sounds good," was all he said, "The sooner the better, obviously. I don't know if we can spare one of the trucks for that long - maybe we can have one of the boys drop you off somewhere."

Daryl shook his head. "Nah, I'll ask Merle if I can take the bike. I'm not sure he can even ride it with the one hand anyhow. But if he asks, you didn't hear that from me."

"Now, if you do happen to find these people," Frank asked, keeping things moving, "what's your plan?"

"Observe from a distance, then hightail it out of there and report back here," Daryl said matter-of-factly. "I ain't afraid of a fight, but I don't like runnin' headlong into trouble if I can help it."

Abraham nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "Good man."

"Alright," Frank said, rising to his feet and ushering them towards the door, "why don't you two go down to the mess hall and rustle up some grub? You're going to want to turn in early, Dixon, because I think I'm going to have Abraham put you into the rotation for guard duty tonight. That alright with you, Abe?"

Abraham nodded, stepping out into the hallway. "Not a problem. See you later, Frank." Daryl followed him out, pulling the door closed behind them.

As they started down the hall, Daryl was quiet, and after a little while, Abraham said, "Don't worry, I'll put you on the two to four shift with your brother, for now. He can show you the ropes."

Daryl, of course, hadn't been worrying at all, but rather had been wondering how much of the prison he could explore in only two hours time, and without Merle getting on his case. But to Abraham he simply said, "Thanks, man."

Abraham smiled to himself. "Don't mention it. What did I tell you? You're going to do just fine here."


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: Tyreese's story about the old man comes directly from issue #7 of "The Walking Dead." It belongs to Robert Kirkman and is used here without permission. Of course, almost everything in this story belongs to that guy and is used here without permission, so…yeah. Go fan fiction!

Ember

Chapter 17 - Warm glow

When Andrea pulled the truck up to the front gate of the RV park, Carol could see that T-Dog was keeping guard on the other side; or to be more accurate, he was playing frisbee with Carl on the other side, his rifle hanging loosely by its strap across his back. But when he heard the truck approaching, he waved at Carl to hold off for a second, and jogged over to unlock the gate for them. It wasn't until Andrea had pulled completely through and he was locking up behind them, however, that he seemed to notice the strangers sitting in the truck's bed. Coming up to the driver's side window, he leaned in and asked Andrea in a hushed tone, "Who are these people? Where did you find them?"

"They're survivors, T-Dog," Andrea answered with a weary sigh. "Just a man and some kids. We found them wandering the road."

"Hey, what's going on?" Carl asked, suddenly popping up at the window beside T-Dog.

"We got some new people," T-Dog said to the boy, keeping his voice low. "Run and get your Dad for me, ok?"

"Ok," Carl said with a firm nod, then took off like a bolt in the direction of the RVs, shouting, "Dad! Dad!"

Meanwhile, Andrea put the truck in park and everyone began to climb out. Carol followed T-Dog around to the back to open up the tailgate and help the trio of newcomers down from the bed.

"Welcome to camp," T-Dog said once everyone had climbed down, and offered Tyreese his hand. "The name's Theodore Douglas, but everybody around here just calls me T-Dog."

"Pleased to meet you," Tyreese said, accepting the friendly gesture gratefully. "I'm Tyreese."

T-Dog smiled, but his eyes looked slightly troubled. As he released Tyreese's hand, he said, "Hey man, don't take this the wrong way, but you look awfully familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?"

It might have been Carol's imagination, but she thought Tyreese looked slightly embarrassed.

"Well…" he said hesitantly, almost reluctantly, "Are you a football fan? Because I used to play a little pro-ball, back in the day. I did a couple of seasons with the Falcons in the late nineties."

T-Dog's eyes widened, but not nearly as much as his smile. "Yeah!" he exclaimed, "I think I must've seen you play, man! Shit, what are the odds?"

Carol watched, amused, as T-Dog became more animated and Tyreese looked increasingly self-conscious. She couldn't help but smile.

Just then, Carl came running back, with Rick following close behind him.

"Hello there," Rick called, extending his hand as he approached the small band of strangers. "My name's Rick. I'm-"

"You're the guy in charge," Tyreese said, taking Rick's hand and giving it a firm shake.

Rick cast a glance over at Andrea, then offered Tyreese a thin smile. "That's right," he said. He stepped back and rested his hands on his hips.

"Well, then, you're the man we came to see," Tyreese said decisively. "My name's Tyreese, and this is my daughter Julie and her boyfriend Chris. We're pleased to meet you, aren't we, kids?"

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Julie said in a soft, shy voice, her eyes fixed on the ground. Chris said nothing, and continued to glare at them darkly from behind the fall of his stringy, black hair.

"Likewise," Rick said with a nod, but his tone was guarded, making his words seem a little less than sincere. "What brings you folks out here to the middle of nowhere?"

"Food," Tyreese said bluntly. "I'm not going to mince words with you, we're starving and we're desperate. Otherwise I never would have put these kids at such a risk by bringing them out on the open road. But I had to do something. The food ran out and we've barely eaten a thing in over a week."

Rick's expression hadn't changed much while Tyreese was explaining things, but Carol could tell that he was feeling sympathetic to the small group's plight when he turned to her and said, "Carol, would you mind taking Julie and Chris up to the camp and getting them something to eat while Tyreese and I hash things out?"

Carol smiled. "I'd be happy to," she said. Then, offering the teens a small, friendly wave, she said, "If you two would follow me, it's right this way."

Julie looked back nervously at Tyreese. Chris put his arm around her, trying to lead her away, but she seemed unwilling to leave her father's side.

"It'll be alright, Julie," Tyreese said in a soft, reassuring voice. "Go with Carol. These people are trusting us, we have to trust them."

"This way," Carol repeated gently, and when the two hungry teenagers finally began to follow after her, she lead them up toward the center of camp.

Inside the inner circle of RVs, Maggie and Glenn were sitting by the fire pit, looking at an old road atlas and discussing the relative merits and dangers of going out further on supply runs. They watched Carol and her charges pass by with benign curiosity, but politely kept their distance.

Carol lead Julie and Chris across the camp to the supply trailer. She held the door open for them and ushered them inside, asking as they passed, "Do you two like ramen noodles?"

In the privacy of the RV, away from prying eyes, Chris spoke up for the first time. "Yeah," he said in a sullen voice, "Who doesn't?"

Carol smiled encouragingly at the boy. "Alright," she said, grabbing two large bowls. She opened two packages of the dried noodles and dropped one into each of the bowls, then poured bottled water over the noodles, just until they started to float. Reaching up, she opened the microwave, slid the bowls inside, set the time and punched 'Start.'

The teens stared, transfixed by the soft glow and hum of the tiny appliance.

"No way…" Chris breathed, "You have a _microwave_?"

"Mm-hm," said Carol with the tiniest of nods, "We've only been able to get one generator working so far, so we all have to share, but yes. It's an amazing luxury these days, isn't it? We're very lucky to have it."

"Aw, Jules, look!" Chris gasped, pointing to the table behind where Carol was standing. "They've got microwave popcorn, too!"

Carol was so pleased that the boy was finally allowing himself to open up, that she said in a conspiratorial voice, "You know what? We were planning to save those as a special treat, and looking at you two, I don't think I've seen two people more in need of a special treat in all my life. When the noodles are done cooking, we'll throw in a bag of popcorn, too."

"Are…are you sure?" Julie asked softly, lifting her eyes from the floor to meet Carol's. "We don't want to be greedy…"

Carol's heart clenched in her chest. For a girl of her stature, Julie seemed so fragile, so sad and afraid. Watching the poor girl fight back her tears would have been heart rending for any mother, but it was doubly so for Carol, who couldn't help but see the similarities between Tyreese's shy daughter and her own. She reached over and gently touched the girl's shoulder.

"Really, it's fine," she said firmly. "Just don't be surprised if Carl and Beth come sniffing around, looking for a handout."

"Is Carl that little boy we saw down by the gate?" Julie asked, bolstered by the small gesture of kindness.

"That's him," Carol said. "And Beth is closer to your age, though she's a tiny little thing… Actually, when you're done eating, what you should do is pay a visit to her big sister, Maggie. She'd probably have something clean you could change into. In fact, you should both go - Maggie's boyfriend Glenn has to be roughly the same size as you, Chris."

"That'd be good," Chris agreed. "If I have to wear these shorts for one more day, they're going to fuse to my ass."

"Chris!" Julie hissed through her teeth, motioning at Carol with a tilt of her head, then she sighed and rolled her eyes in disgust. "Why do you have to be so nasty…"

For her part, Carol decided to ignored it and left them to work it out for themselves. It was good to see the two of them displaying some normal teenage behavior.

When the ramen was done, Carol sent them out to eat their noodles by the fire pit while she stayed behind to make the popcorn - there was no reason why the poor things should have to wait any longer to put something in their stomachs. While she waited by the microwave for that first telltale pop, she heard the unmistakable sound of Tyreese's deep baritone joining the kids' voices outside.

"Ramen, huh?" he asked, the question tinged with amusement. "That takes me back."

"Carol's making us popcorn, too," she heard Julie say through a mouthful of noodles, and the happiness in the young girl's voice was unmistakable.

"Popcorn?" Tyreese said, sounding surprised. "I'm gonna have to go check this out."

She heard his heavy footsteps approaching the trailer, crunching bits of sticks and gravel underfoot, and then he was standing in the doorway, nearly filling the room with his presence.

"Hello again," he said warmly, coming fully into the RV. "I was wondering if I could have a bowl of those noodles myself."

"Of course," Carol said, and immediately busied herself with the task, grateful for something to distract her. She was suddenly feeling intensely self-conscious.

"Wow, they weren't kidding," Tyreese said, coming closer to have a look at the microwave. "I didn't think I'd ever see one of these working again."

"It's the little things in life, isn't it?" Carol said, pouring water over the noodles, "Especially now."

"Yes it is," Tyreese said wistfully, watching the bag of popcorn expand as it spun around on the microwave's turntable. "I just finished talking to Rick," he said suddenly, changing the subject. "He was telling me how things work around here."

Carol nodded, looking down at her hands. "Sometimes I find myself questioning 'how things work around here,' but we've managing to make it this far. I suppose we have Rick to thank for that."

"You do have a nice set-up here," Tyreese said, looking around the room appreciatively. "Rick said he doesn't mind if we decide to stay. He said the food would have to stretch a little farther, but that you all could really use some more muscle around here, and as luck would have it," he said, smiling broadly at her, "that's the one thing I have to offer." Carol had to quickly look away to keep from grinning back.

"It _is_ nice here," she agreed, "but Rick did tell you that this is only temporary, didn't he?"

Tyreese's smile slipped a little, and he looked slightly concerned. "Not yet…Why?" he asked curiously. "Is there a problem here, or is it that there's some bigger plan in the works?"

Carol paused, biting her bottom lip. Even if Rick had invited them to stay, telling Tyreese about the prison might be stepping out of bounds.

"I don't know how much I should be telling you," she said finally. "It isn't my place."

"Don't trouble yourself, " Tyreese said, leaning back against the counter. "I'm sure I'll find out soon enough. Rick did say there was a lot more to discuss, but that I should have something to eat first."

With impeccable timing, the microwave beeped then, and Carol took the popcorn out and swapped it for Tyreese's bowl.

"Let's leave that to cool for a minute," she said absently, placing the steaming bag on the counter top, then added apologetically, "Your noodles will only be a few minutes more."

"That's fine," he said. "Thank you. And look, don't worry, I don't expect everything to be perfect. Not anymore."

"Are we talking about this group, or the noodles?" Carol asked, and they shared a small laugh.

"Either way," Tyreese said, grinning. "Right now, I'm just happy to be around decent people. It's been a long time."

Carol felt her smile falter, and she looked away. "We _are_ decent people," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "But that doesn't mean our hands are clean. Things seem easy right now, but believe me, we're fighting for our lives out here. We've had to make a lot of tough choices."

"Don't think for a second that you're alone in that," Tyreese said quietly. "I think anyone who's still alive at this point has had to do some questionable things to stay that way." He glanced out the door then, before turning back to Carol, his voice lowered to just above a whisper.

"I want to tell you something," he said, "so you'll understand where I'm coming from. A couple of weeks after this all started - the firsttime we ran out of food - the kids and I made a run down to this little country store about two miles from our house. The place was a shambles - we weren't the first ones to get there by a long shot, and it was pretty picked-over. But there were stray cans all over the place, and it _seemed_ safe enough, so we all split up. I figured we'd find more food that way." He stopped there for a moment, either thinking back, or taking the time to choose his next words carefully. "There used to be this nice old man, back before…" he said, "He would sit out in front of the store, chatting away with his buddies about this and that. Had to be about sixty, I'd say. Nicest old man you'd ever care to meet, always had a kind word…"

Tyreese paused again, taking a deep, deliberate, breath before he continued.

"We had no idea anyone else was in there… But while we were separated, this nice old man got a hold of Julie. He pulled her into a back room - turns out he'd been living in the place - and the first thing he thinks of when he finally sees other people? This sweet old man…" Tyreese swallowed hard, deep lines of anger setting in his face. "He tried to _rape_ Julie. _My_ little girl. If I had been one minute later when I found them, he'd have done it."

Carol's fingertips flew up to cover her mouth. "No!" she gasped, feeling heartsick. "That poor girl, no wonder she's so afraid…"

Tyreese sighed heavily through his nose and closed his eyes. He hid his face in his cupped hands, rubbing away the tension there as he composed himself.

"My little girl…" he repeated softly, calmer now. "When I saw what that man was trying to do, I killed him, Carol. I didn't mean to, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to. I beat on that old man and he died."

Carol sighed. Without thinking, she reached out her hand and gently brushed his arm with her knuckles.

"The worst part is that I don't even feel bad about doing it," he said, shaking his head. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat. That's what living this way has done to me, how it's _changed_ me. I think I'm still a nice man, for the most part, but I'm not sure that I'm a good person anymore. Does that make any sense?"

Carol nodded slowly. "Yes," she said softly. "I know exactly what you mean. I… I was attacked by a man. It wasn't even that long ago, only a few days... T-Dog and I were out looking for food and supplies, just like you were. We were at this truck stop, not far from here. We thought we'd checked the place thoroughly, but there was a man hiding out back, with a knife. He caught me alone while T-Dog was loading up the truck. He told me that he was going to kill T-Dog, and while didn't come right out and say it, I knew what he was going to do to me after that… But I had a gun…and when he came at me, I shot him in the face. Once while he was standing, and then again, after he'd hit the ground. The first bullet was reactionary - I just wanted him to stop - but the second one…" Carol shook her head. "There was no reason for the second one. I just wanted to make sure he was dead."

She looked up at Tyreese, then, catching his gaze and holding it. "I didn't have to kill that man," she said, "and I didn't want to, but I didn't see any other way out. When it first happened, I was a mess about it. But now… Now I'm starting to accept that the line between good and evil isn't as clear as I'd been raised to believe. There are bad people out there, but that's not the same as decent people who have to make hard choices. I only hope that the bad ones are people who always had evil in them, but were able to hide it, or keep it in check until now. My late husband was that sort of monster… Because if living this way can change decent people into evil ones, then I don't know… Maybe we'll all lose our humanity in the end."

"It seems like we're in the same boat together," Tyreese said softly. "Maybe this will sound strange, considering what we've been talking about, but it's comforting, in a way."

"No, I know what you mean," Carol agreed, "It is. "

"I don't mean to pry into your past," Tyreese said suddenly, shifting himself closer to her, "but you mentioned your late husband…"

Carl huffed bitterly. "Ed," she said with open disgust. "Honestly, the less said about him, the better. He would beat me, and the way he'd started looking at our daughter in those last few weeks…" Carol swallowed hard, getting flustered. "Well, anyway, a walker got him and it was no less than he deserved. Maybe that's not a very Christian thing to say, but there it is. It's hardly the worst thing I've done in recent memory."

"From the sounds of it, it's not even the worst thing you've done this week," Tyreese said with a gentle smile.

Carol laughed, wiping a tear from her eye. "No, I suppose not. You don't even know the half of it. I've been racking up sins left and right." An image of Daryl immediately flashed through her mind; he was standing over her, his fingers working at the buttons of her blouse. Her cheeks flushed at the memory.

It didn't escape Tyreese's notice. "I guess so," he said, raising an eyebrow, and they chuckled together, stopping only when Chris appeared in the doorway.

"Is the popcorn ready?" he asked, offering back the empty bowls.

"Oh!" Carol gasped, "I'm sorry, honey, I got distracted. Here." She took the bowls from him and handed him the bag. Chris favored her with a half-hearted look of disdain, but thanked her politely enough, and went back outside.

"And your noodles!" Carol groaned, plopping the bowls on the counter and frantically turning back to the microwave.

"It's alright," Tyreese laughed. "It's my fault for distracting you, I'm sorry."

"No, please, don't apologize for that," Carol said with a laugh, "It's been so long since I've had a conversation with someone who wasn't taking pity on me! Not a fight, or a lecture, or well-intentioned advice, just a conversation. You wouldn't believe how long it's been."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Tyreese laughed, "Do you know how long it's been since I've been able to have a conversation with another adult? And they're teenagers! Most of the time they're trying their best to pretend I don't exist."

Carol smiled, handing him his bowl of noodles, and together they went outside to join the kids. Sure enough, just as Carol had predicted, Carl and Beth had been drawn out by the promise of popcorn and joined the other two. Beth and Julie seemed to be getting along fairly well, Carol was pleased to see. Both girls seemed to be in desperate need of a friend their own age.

Tyreese sat across from the kids, on the fallen log-bench, and Carol sat next to him. Before too long, Andrea relieved T-Dog of guard duty, and he came up to join them. The two men talked about football for awhile, while Carol simply sat back and enjoyed the normalcy of it all. Soon, Lori came out of her trailer, having recently woken from a 'prenatal coma,' as she liked to call her afternoon naps, and introductions went around again. Right around the time Tyreese had finished eating his noodles, Rick came back from working on the generators with Hershel.

"How's it goin,' Rick?" T-Dog called to him. "We any closer to gettin' hot showers in this place?"

"Not unless you've been carrying around spare generator parts in your pockets this whole time," Rick huffed, plopping himself down in one of the canvas camp chairs. "Damned things are rusted to shit. I don't think it's gonna happen. One more reason we've got to get inside that prison before winter comes."

"Prison?" Tyreese said, sitting up straight. "What's this all about now?"

Rick sighed, leaning forward in his seat to rest his elbows on his knees. "Well, I suppose now's as good a time as any."

So, starting at the beginning, Rick explained their situation to Tyreese and his family. He laid it all out for them; the prison, Merle, Randall, Carol's attacker, and Daryl going inside as their mole - nothing was left out. As the story progressed, Tyreese's face became drawn and serious, but if he was having any doubts about them now, he didn't let on. When he was finished, Rick said simply, "So there it is. And I can understand if you don't want to get your family involved in all of this. But as you can see, I was serious when I said that we could really use your help. I think if you did decide to stay here, and work with us, we could take that prison and build a life for ourselves inside its walls. We'd be strong, and our children could live in relative safety. Maybe that seems like just a hopeless dream right now, but I believe in that dream. I think together we could make that dream a reality."

Tyreese remained quiet for a few seconds, looking thoughtfully at the ground. When he looked back up, he said, "You know something, Rick? If your people hadn't found us when they did, it's very likely that we would have starved to death. Or if this other group is running around the area, picking off survivors like you say, they might have found us before too much longer. Either way, we'd be dead. We owe you a debt of gratitude. On top of that, I believe you're right. This prison sounds like exactly what we need to keep our people safe in the long-term."

Rick smiled, then. A real, genuine smile. "Are you sure you're alright with this?" he asked. "It's going to be dangerous, and it's going to mean killing some living people. It's not an easy decision, I know."

Tyreese looked grimly amused by the man's concern. "You'll have to forgive me, Rick, but I don't see it as a hard decision. Maybe back in the days before all of this, but not anymore. If this gang is allowed to roam free, they're going to find us eventually, and that makes them a direct threat to my family. I have no qualms about stopping a threat. None whatsoever. Now, if this changes your mind about the kind of person you think I am, you might want to think twice about inviting us to join up with you. But that's how I see it."

"Actually, I think you've got the right kind of attitude, all things considered," Rick said. "We've already seen that these people can't be reasoned with."

"The only thing is, I'm lousy with a gun," Tyreese admitted. "I don't know how much help I'd actually be in a fire fight."

"Well, there's still some time to work on that. And we're not entirely sure how this thing is going to go down - we still need to hear back from our guy on the inside before we work out the details. In the meantime, I know we could use your help around here."

"I'm happy to do it," Tyreese said. "I can't tell you how good it feels to have food in our stomachs again. And a microwave… It almost seems unreal."

"And warm beds," Rick added. "There are still a few RV's standing empty. You're welcome to take your pick. I apologize for the continued lack of hot showers, but if you can brave the cold, there's a pond out back you can wash up in - we've got plenty of soap - and in the meantime, I'm sure one of these nice ladies can see about getting you something clean to wear."

Rick excused himself, then, and headed down to the front gate to speak with Andrea.

Tyreese chuckled to himself, looking all around him at the ancient RVs. "You know," he said to Carol, "I always wanted to travel around in one of these tacky things. Take it out west, down Route 66, see all the old Americana… But I'm guessing these bad boys aren't going anywhere, are they?"

Carol smiled and shook her head. "No, I'm pretty sure all the ones that could move are long gone."

"Oh well," he sighed. "Maybe if I'm lucky I'll forget where I am when I wake up each morning, and for a few seconds, I'll think I'm on vacation."

"If only…" Carol sighed along with him. "So, do any in particular strike your fancy?"

Tyreese shrugged. "I'll just take the one right next to yours. That way, we'll be neighbors."

Carol laughed. "Well, technically, we're ALL neighbors," she said, "but the one to the left of mine _is_ standing empty, if you really want it."

"Sounds good," Tyreese said, rising to his feet. "When I get back from washing up in that freezing pond, you'll have to show me where I've decided to live."

"I can do that now, actually," Carol said. "You're going to need soap and a towel anyway." She got up off the log, walked the few yards to her doorstep, turning to look over her shoulder at Tyreese before ascending the stairs.

"This is my place," she said. "The one you want is right there," she added, pointing to her left. "Think you can manage to find your way without getting lost?"

"We'll find out," he said, with a grin.

Carol smirked back at him, then, holding up a finger, she said, "Give me one second," and ducked into the RV. She headed straight for the bathroom, grabbing one of the larger towels from the cabinet under the sink, and a fresh bar of soap, still wrapped in its packaging. She plopped the bar of soap in the middle of the folded towel, rolled it up, and hugging the neat little package to her chest, headed back outside.

"Here you are, sir," she said, handing the bundle over to Tyreese. "Careful, the soap's inside."

"Thank you kindly, again, ma'am," he said with a little dip of his head, "It seems I'm forever in your debt." He made a show of giving her RV a once-over, then did the same to his own. "This is good…" he said, nodding his head with satisfaction, "Now I'll know just who to go to if I need to borrow some sugar."

Carol groaned and rolled her eyes. "Go take a bath," she commanded, pointing him in the direction of the pond. Tyreese obliged, giving her one last playful look before he headed off. Carol sighed, shaking her head at him as she watched him go. Maybe she _was_ being a bit too trusting, but she had a feeling that her initial instincts had been right this time - Tyreese was a good man.

She sat down on her front steps, resting her chin on the palm of one hand. The smell of the soap was still on her fingertips, and it triggered another memory of Daryl: That night he'd worried her by coming back late, but had returned fresh and clean, and smelling all over of that same soap.

Tyreese was a welcomed distraction, for the moment, and she could tell that they were going to be very good friends, but she missed Daryl terribly. There were still three days left before he was supposed to come back, but so much had happened in the last two that it felt like weeks had already passed by without him. He was going to be coming back to an entirely different camp. She would be different, too. She wondered how different Daryl would be…

Still, she had an awful, nagging feeling that, different or no, and regardless of whether Tyreese was a good man or not, Daryl was not going to like the man _at all_.


	18. Chapter 18

Warning - Getting a full-time job eats up all your free time.

Ember

Chapter 18 - Extinguished

After the day he'd had, Daryl hadn't expected to sleep very well. His body was tired and aching, but his mind was troubled, and he'd fully expected to spend the evening tossing and turning in his bunk until it was time for him to get up for his shift. Still, his body's need to shut down for awhile must have won out in the end, because the next thing he knew, Merle was shaking him roughly, dragging him up from deep, dreamless oblivion.

"What…?" Daryl croaked groggily, confused and a little disoriented. Merle must have been leaning in close, because Daryl could feel his hot, sour breath on the side of his face. The scent was a familiar one that dredged up unwelcome flashes of childhood memory. Whiskey, cigarettes and an underlying tinge of decay. Merle was beginning to smell like their old man.

Daryl cracked his eyes open a sliver, blinking at the light that seemed to be emanating from his brother's arm. It took him almost a full minute to realize that someone had duct taped a flashlight to Merle's stump. That's when he remembered: Guard duty. They had the graveyard shift.

"Mornin,' Mary Sunshine," Merle slurred cheerfully, more so than anyone had a right to be at two o'clock in the morning. "Wakey, wakey, egg and bakey."

Daryl grumbled. "You look like the bad guy in a comic book…" he muttered, leaning over the edge of his bunk and groping blindly beneath it for his boots. His fingers brushed against the worn leather, and he pulled them out, one at a time. Sitting up, he looked over at his older brother, who was happily making obscene shadow puppets against the wall of their cell.

"You been up this whole time?" he asked, stuffing his foot into a boot. Merle hadn't been at supper, and he hadn't been in their cell when Daryl had turned in for the night. He'd thought for certain that Merle would have returned at some point to get some sleep before the start of their shift, but clearly he'd been wrong.

"Me an' a few of the boys were just shootin' the breeze, is all," Merle said amiably, running his thick fingers through the curly mess of soft, graying hair that sat atop his head.

"You been drinkin,'" Daryl observed, grunting as his sleep-addled fingers clumsily fought with his bootlaces.

Merle chuckled at him. "So? Ain't much else to do in here, now is there? What's the matter, you jealous?" he asked, shining his flashlight directly into Daryl's eyes. Daryl flinched, squeezing them shut with a curse.

"Cut that shit out!" he growled.

Merle pointed the beam back at the cell wall, wheezing with laughter. "Aw, come on, don't be such a spoil sport," he softly crowed with delight, "Just havin' a bit of fun with ya."

Daryl rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear the spots from his vision. "Yeah, you're a regular barrel of laughs," he muttered. "Let me ask you somethin,' how does Frank feel, knowing your ass is drunk when you're supposed to be keepin' a watch out for trouble?"

With a lopsided grin, Merle held a finger up to his lips. "Shh… What Frank don't know ain't gonna hurt him any," he said in an exaggerated whisper. "Besides, there ain't nothin' to worry about. We're snug as bedbugs in here, little man."

Daryl frowned, pulling on his other boot. He had serious doubts about pretty much everything Merle had just told him, but he decided that it didn't really matter. He didn't give two shits if Frank knew what Merle got up to in his spare time; the only thing that interested him was finding out what Merle knew about the people who had been attacked by Frank's group of lowlifes.

The thing was, he hadn't been entirely honest with Rick or the others - not even Carol. He knew it was a long shot, but a large part of him still wanted to believe that Merle was ignorant of some of the things these men had done; as unlikely as it seemed, he couldn't write his brother off as a lost cause until he was absolutely sure of it.

"Alright, I'm ready," Daryl said, tying the last knot, "Let's get this thing done."

Merle handed him a flashlight, and grabbing his crossbow from beneath his bunk, he followed his brother out through the dark corridors of the slumbering prison and into the yard. Their flashlights cut through the thick blackness of the night as they silently crossed the yard, headed for the guard tower that stood to the left of the front gate. The only sounds were the soft crunching of gravel beneath their boots, and the singing of crickets out beyond the fence's perimeter; nothing else stirred. They found the door to the tower left ajar, and they climbed up the stairs to the top, where they could look out over the surrounding area. Or at least, they would have been able to do that, had the floodlights been working. Or if there had been anything out there to see.

"What'd I tell ya?" Merle grunted softly, leaning back against the center column of the tower. "Not a fuckin' thing in sight, livin' or dead. We ain't seen hardly anythin' since we got this place cleared out. 'Cept for you, of course." He reached into his back pocket, producing a small, flat bottle of amber liquid, and took a swig from it.

"Stands to reason," Daryl replied, gazing out into the darkness. "This place is tucked away in the middle of nowhere. One road in, hill at the back… Not many people are gonna stumble onto it."

"Yeah…" Merle agreed, getting strangely quiet. A cool breeze blew across the yard, and Daryl felt the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"What?" he asked warily.

"Well, now," Merle said, taking his time, "I've just been wonderin' how it is you managed to track me down all the way out here, 'in the middle of nowhere,' like you said. You an' me both know that trackin' will only get you so far, especially after weeks and months have gone by. Even _you_ ain't that good, baby brother. So I have to ask myself…what is it that he's not tellin' me?"

Daryl swallowed hard, clenching his jaw. He'd been expecting this from the first, but had been fool enough to hope that at this late in the game, Merle might have decided to let the matter lie. Telling made-up stories to a complete stranger was one thing - it hadn't proved nearly as difficult as he'd feared - but trying to pull the wool over Merle's eyes, Merle who had known him since the day he was born… Well, that was another matter entirely. Taking a deep breath, he turned his head away and looked down at his hands, which were resting on the top bar of the safety railing.

"You're right," he said carefully, "I ain't been tellin' the whole truth."

"I knew it," Merle said triumphantly. "You can't hide from me, boy. I know you better than you know yourself." The words had a hard edge to them for something spoken so softly, and even in the dark, without looking, Daryl could feel the cold scrutiny of his brother's eyes.

"Well, go on, spill it," Merle demanded, taking another swig from his bottle.

Glancing back at his brother, Daryl haltingly began. "So…about a month back, I had a run in with one of your boys. Young fella by the name of Randall."

"Yeah, I knew him," Merle interrupted, his voice thick with disdain. "Scrawny little maggot. Useless, for the most part. Couldn't shoot for shit and nearly pissed himself every time we had an encounter with the geeks. He went out with some of the others on a raid that wound up running into that group we're lookin' for. When he didn't come back, we figured he was corpse food."

Daryl nodded. "He told me some of that. I found him wandering down the road, maybe twenty, thirty miles from here. Said he'd been taken captive for awhile, by this group of people holed up on a farm somewhere. He didn't know where, exactly; they'd kept him blindfolded or trussed up in the trunk of a car every time they'd transported him. But I guess later on they had a change of heart and decided to send him on his way. Who knows why? Randall sure didn't. Anyway, it wasn't long after that when I ran into him. They'd given him some food, but no weapons, and I had weapons, but was down to nothin' but pawpaw and squirrel meat, so we ran together for a bit. That first night, sittin' by the fire, he told me about you lot. And when I told him why I was out there combin' the hills, I came to find out that he not only knew who you were, but he could tell me where you'd been campin' and where ya'll were headed the last time he'd seen you. That got me started in the right direction. The rest was a little luck and a whole lotta searchin.'"

Daryl finished his tale, and looked over at Merle, who was eyeing him curiously.

"If that's how it went down," he said, slow and deliberate, "then why is this the first I'm hearin' about it? Why didn't you tell me about this when you first got here? Why didn't you tell the boss?"

Daryl shrugged, shifting a bit. "Honestly, I didn't want Frank askin' me questions about Randall," he said.

This seemed to pique Merle's curiosity even further. "Why's that?" he asked.

Daryl looked back down at his hands. "I didn't think he'd take too kindly to me if he found out I'd killed one of his boys."

If this news surprised or distressed Merle at all, he didn't show it. "Go on," was all he said.

Daryl explained; "One night while I was sleepin,' the little shit tried to run off with the food _and_ the weapons. Got about half a mile before I caught up with him, and by that point, I was pretty wound up. I beat the shit outta that kid…but…I overdid it. I slammed him into a tree and wound up breakin' his neck." Daryl cast a furtive glance at his older brother, gnawing on his bottom lip.

Merle only shrugged. "No big loss," he said. "Like I told you, he was worthless. And I can't imagine that Frank would give a rat's ass about what happened to the runt, but we can keep it between ourselves, if that's how you want to play it."

"If you don't think he needs to know, I'd rather not have that colorin' his opinion of me," Daryl said. "I mean, ain't we goin' after this other group for doin' basically the same thing?"

Merle laughed. "Come on, Darlina, don't be so naïve. The big man likes to make it out like we're fightin' the good fight, and maybe in his mind that's really part of it, but when you get right down to the marrow, this thing's really about survival of the fittest. You understand what I'm sayin'?"

"Maybe," said Daryl evasively, narrowing his eyes. "What _are_ you sayin'?"

Merle grinned, showing his teeth. "I'm sayin' this world ain't big enough for everyone who's left. Resources are limited. There's no one growin' crops, or manufacturin' new supplies, and winter is right around the corner. If someone has somethin' we need, or want, and they ain't willin' to share, then what choice does that leave us? It's a hard new world, little brother, and only the strong get to survive. I've been tellin' you that your whole miserable life, ain't I?"

Daryl nodded. He couldn't argue with that. It had been his brother's mantra for as long as he could remember. Every shitty thing Merle had ever done to him had been in the name of toughening him up, 'making a man out of him' for his own good - at least, that's what Merle had always told him.

"Well, it's more true than ever before," Merle said firmly, raising the bottle over his head. "And you're lucky you found us when you did, now that we're holed up in here. This here's the winnin' side! What we want, we take, and ain't nobody gonna stop us."

Daryl didn't know exactly how to respond, but his silence didn't seem to bother Merle any. He was on a tear now, and if there was one thing his brother loved, whether he was half in the bag or not, it was the sound of his own voice. If anything, it seemed like it might be a good time to start asking some questions of his own. He had to be careful though; Merle may have been drunk, but he wasn't stupid, not by a long shot. He was a crafty old bastard, and distrustful by nature. If you didn't want to arouse his suspicions, you had to tread carefully.

"Nice as that is," Daryl quipped, "I'd feel a whole lot better if the winnin' side wasn't so goddamn ugly."

Merle chuckled at that. "Aw, shit…" he sighed, "Truer words were never spoken. I'd give up my other hand for some sweet little piece of ass to come saunterin' in here."

Daryl saw an opening and ran with it. "Yeah, how come there ain't any women?" he asked. "Doesn't that seem weird to you?"

"We get 'em sometimes…" Merle sighed. "They just never last too long."

There was a slow, sinking feeling in the pit of Daryl's stomach, but he steeled his resolve; even if he was afraid of the answer, he had to know.

"Yeah…" he said, scratching at the back of his neck, "Randall told me somethin' about this pair of young girls…"

Merle spit over the side of the railing, cursing softly to himself. "That's ancient history. Those pretty little things are long gone."

Daryl tried to swallow the lump growing in his throat. "That's too bad," he whispered hoarsely.

Merle reached over and swatted him on the shoulder affectionately. "Aw, cheer up, Bucko," he said reassuringly, "If this group of assholes turns out to be those same people from the Atlanta group, then we know they got at least a few choice split-tails hidin' out with 'em. Matter of fact," he said, his voice dropping in tenor, "I got somethin' real special saved up for that over-educated blonde cooze with the gun and the attitude. Think I'll start by introducing her to this," he said, gesturing with his stump, "Maybe knock out a few teeth, just to show her who's boss. They give better head without teeth anyway, am I right? In fact, you might want in on this, seein' as how she took part of your head off an' all."

Daryl felt sick. It wasn't the first time he'd heard Merle go on like this - it happened nearly every time he picked up a bottle - but this time, he knew Merle wasn't just blowing smoke. The tone of his voice was completely different. Tonight, he meant what he was saying, and he spoke with the conviction of someone who knew that he could get away with whatever he wanted. Merle seemed confident that, not only would no one be able to stop him, but no one would even think to try. In this group, nobody would even think less of him afterward. Just like Daryl had found a place that he could grow and thrive within the Atlanta group, it seemed that Merle had finally found his people. There would be no use in trying to talk him back, to bring him around. His brother was a lost cause.

"Nah, that's alright," Daryl muttered softly, staring out into the darkness. "She's all yours. 'Sides, I wouldn't fuck that one with a stolen dick."

Merle was real quiet for a moment, as though he was carefully considering this. Then, after a beat, he said, "Oh, right… I forgot, you like 'em real young, don'tcha?"

Daryl snorted derisively, amused by the irony of that statement. "What the hell do you know about it?" he asked, looking back over his shoulder at his brother.

Merle favored him with a twisted, knowing grin. "I know I finally remembered where I heard the name Sophia before."

Before Daryl could stop it, his eyes widened - he couldn't help himself. It felt like his blood had just turned to ice in his veins.

Merle chuckled, tickled by his brother's obvious discomfort. "Didn't think I'd remember that, did ya?" he taunted. "She was back at the quarry, that little girl. The daughter of that gray-haired bitch who's husband was always beatin' on her. You know, I used to wonder why you were always makin' eyes at their camp…" Merle smiled evilly. "Guess now I know why."

Daryl's pulse quickened - his heart felt like it was working double time. "She was just a skinny little kid," he protested hotly. "Couldn't have been more than twelve!"

Merle crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. "We always knew you were an odd duck, Bucko. The old man thought you were a queer - hell, sometimes I even had my doubts. You never brought a girl home, never seemed to _like_ chasin' tail… Never could get a handle on you. It wasn't until this mornin,' when I remembered that little girl's name, that I finally put two and two together."

Daryl ground his teeth, taking deep breaths in through his nose. "Jesus, Merle…" he murmured.

"Aw, don't get your panties in a bunch," Merle scolded gently, "It's a brand new world. Take whatever you can, I ain't gonna judge you. Shit, you probably ain't the only one in here…"

This was met with silence, and Merle nodded his head firmly, as though he considered the matter closed. A few seconds later, he yawned deeply, then groaned, stretching his arms up over his head.

"Oh man…" he sighed, slumping back against the wall, "I am wrecked." He twisted his body to one side, until his back released a series of soft cracks and pops. When he was finished, he turned to Daryl and said, "You got this, right? Pretty self-explanatory, I think."

"Yeah," Daryl said quietly, not trusting himself to say anything else.

"Good," Merle said, "then I'm goin' to bed. I'll see you in the mornin,' hoss.'"

"Yeah," Daryl repeated, and he watched his brother's back as he began his slow, careening descent down the tower's narrow staircase. He waited a full ten minutes, until he was certain that Merle was long gone, then he climbed down himself. Knees shaking, he made his way over to the first layer of perimeter fences. Keeping a hand on the chain link to steady himself, he followed it away from the guard towers, to a far corner of the yard. Hidden from even the vaguest possibility of prying eyes, he bent over, heaving and retching until there was nothing left, until he felt as though his guts had been turned inside out. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and slowly made his way back to the tower.

He stood beside the tower for a long while, his flashlight casting a dull glow onto the pale surface of wall in front of him. He didn't realize that he'd started punching it until a red stain began to bloom on the concrete, and even then he didn't register the pain - not right away. Moments later, when his knuckles began to sting and his arm began to throb all the way up to his shoulder, he stopped, and the pain came rushing in like water from a broken spillway. Choking back a slew of profanity, he leaned into himself, cradling his hand against his body. Then, when the worst of it seemed to have passed, he held his hand out in front of him, under the flashlight. His knuckles looked like ground chuck, and they were dripping blood onto the gravel, but he couldn't see bone, and nothing was jutting out at an odd angle. He carefully made a fist, wincing as the skin around his knuckles tightened, then released it again. There didn't seem to be any permanent damage, he noted with a twinge of relief. Of course, it would probably hurt like a bitch in the morning, once the swelling went down and the bruises appeared, and he'd have to make up an explanation… One that didn't involve throwing a tantrum.

Cursing his own stupidity, Daryl turned around, heading back across the yard toward the prison's front entrance. He slipped back inside, as silently as he could manage, and though he wanted nothing more than to head back to his cell and sleep off the rest of this shit night, he instead found himself heading purposefully for the padlocked corridor he'd passed with Abraham earlier that day. After several minutes of searching, and getting turned around a couple of times - it was dark, and every hallway looked exactly the same, even in the best light - he found the set of doors that he was looking for. He examined the chain and padlock first, giving it an experimental shake. Both were heavy and strong - he'd need the key if he wanted to get it open, and having no real idea of what was waiting for him on the other side, that was a mighty big "if." He gave the door's bar handle a push, and found that it, too, was locked firmly in place. Out of options, he pressed his ear to the cold steel, but he couldn't hear a thing. He waited for a few moments, then knocked softly. It might have been his imagination, but after the knock, he swore he could hear faint shuffling from the corridor on the other side. He knocked again, a little harder this time, and in a low voice called, "Hello? Anybody in there?"

This time he was certain he could hear shuffling - it was either getting louder, or closer, it was hard to tell which. He knocked one last time, and this time, his knock was answered with the muffled sound of a low, strangled moan.

_Walkers._

He was sure of it now. He still didn't know if Abraham had been telling the truth, that it was the reanimated corpses of the prison's former residents shuffling about in there, or if what was locked behind that door was all that remained of the women Frank's men had been taking prisoner. But he found that after the talk he'd just had with Merle, it didn't really matter to him anymore. He'd spend the rest of the little time he had left at the prison exploring the place from tip to tail, looking for weaknesses like he'd planned from the start. He had no more illusions of being a hero; there was no one left here to save.

Hurrying out of the hallway, he rounded the corner and nearly collided with a dark, hulking figure approaching from the opposite direction. Daryl jumped back, a cry of alarm dying on his lips as he raised the beam of his flashlight and discovered that it was Abraham.

"Jesus!" Daryl cursed, shrugging it off, "You just took a year off my life, man."

Abraham didn't seem amused. "What are you doing down here?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be out in the yard?" He clicked on his flashlight, moving the beam over Daryl, giving him a once-over. He lingered for a moment on the bloody mess that was Daryl's right hand, but other than a raised eyebrow, he made no comment. "Where's your brother?" he asked finally.

Daryl shrugged. "Took off first chance he could get, same as always," he said with a touch of bitterness, "I was out there for awhile… Didn't know what time it was, so I was headin' back in. Guess I got a little turned around in the dark."

Abraham glanced down the corridor Daryl had just come out from and frowned. He took a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it up, taking a long, slow drag.

"Turned around in the dark, huh?" he said, blowing smoke out through his nostrils. "Not our celebrated tracker?"

"Hey, listen-" Daryl began, but Abraham cut him off.

"No, you listen," he said, his voice firm, but not unkind. "I told you not to worry about that corridor. You're going to get them riled up, you go poking at them. Leave it be."

Daryl shifted his weight uncomfortably from one hip to the other, but said nothing.

"Still, no harm done," Abraham assured him. "But I want you to steer clear of this area from now on unless you're told otherwise, comprende?"

Daryl nodded, finding he was getting mighty tired of the taste of submission. "Should I get back to the tower?" he asked, gripping his crossbow by the shoulder strap.

"Nah, stay a minute," Abraham said, leaning back against the wall. "I wanted to ask you something."

"You're the boss…" Daryl said evenly, trying to his best to hide his displeasure. Abraham seemed to see right through that, too, because he wasted no time getting to the point.

"Do you trust your brother?" he asked.

Daryl blinked in surprise. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it hadn't been that. It was a question he'd never been asked before, and because it caught him off guard, it took him a few moments to respond. When he couldn't come up with anything solid right away, he simply said, "He's my brother," and left it at that. Abraham could draw his own conclusions.

For his part, however, Abraham would have none of it. "That's not an answer," he said, his face drawn in a heavy scowl. "I _know_ he's your brother, goddamn it! I want to know if you _trust_ him?"

This time, Daryl only hesitated for a second. "No," he said, flat out. Maybe it was the wrong answer, but he didn't have the energy left to lie about it.

As it turned out, Abraham seemed pleased by this answer. "That's smart," he said, taking another drag off his cigarette. "You can't trust anyone in here. We're all liars, each and every one. Thought some of us are better at it than others…" He looked at Daryl pointedly. "Didn't I say you'd fit right in?"

To Daryl, at that moment, keeping his mouth shut felt like the safest option. Any answer he could give felt like a trap, and he suspected that Abraham was all too aware of that fact. After nearly a solid minute of tense silence, Abraham finally said, "Why don't you go back to bed? I'll take it from here."

"Thanks," Daryl said. Without another word, he retreated down the corridor, headed for his cell.

Abraham had been hinting at something, but for the life of him, he couldn't say what. The man acted like he had him all figured out, but that couldn't possibly be the case. If it was, he sure as hell wouldn't be acting so goddamn friendly. It just didn't add up… What was he playing at?

It concerned the hell out of him, but he couldn't worry about that anymore tonight. The knuckles on his right hand had scabbed over, and were beginning ache something awful. It was funny, but more than anything else, he wanted to be back in Carol's bed at the RV park. She'd have made a fuss over his hand, of course, but somehow, the thought didn't bother him like it used to. It actually sounded kind of nice. But there was no point wishing for things he couldn't have, and thinking about Carol would only do his head in. After the scene he'd found at the gun store earlier that day, he couldn't even be entirely certain that she was still alive; and that was something he _really _didn't want to think about. There was nothing he could do, and so it was best not to dwell on it. He'd be back there soon enough. Until then, the cold comfort of his prison bunk would just have to do.


	19. Chapter 19

_Tell me where is fancy bred, and is it on "The Walking Dead?"_

Ember

Chapter 19 - Rekindled

West Central Prison, with its murky hallways and tightly rowed, claustrophobic "dormitories," was a dismal world unto itself. The air was stale, and even on the brightest of days, only a pale finger of sunlight ever made its way through the clouded, narrow windows. It was a far cry from life at the camp, where every morning Daryl had woken early with the sun on his skin, and the smell of earth and smoke filling his tent. Where the buzzing of the cicadas and the chittering of birds nearly drowned out the soft, cautious noises of his fellow survivors as they prepared themselves for the challenges of the new day. Not one of them would have made the argument that the camp was safe, but it had become familiar, and in a world full of uncertainty, it was almost comforting.

There was nothing of that in the prison. Early each morning, if the men weren't loudly complaining about the cold and the aches in their bodies from the hard, prison issue mattresses, they were hurling friendly insults at each other and whooping loudly as they made their way out of the dormitories and down to the mess hall. But the morning after his stint in the guard tower with Merle, Daryl slept through all of it. He didn't wake until the dormitories were nearly empty, and it wasn't the noise, but the pain that finally brought him around. He'd shifted in his sleep, rolling over his injured hand, and he'd woken with a start, having to bite back a cry. A hot bolt of agony shot up his wrist, and he curled into himself, gritting his teeth against it. He stayed that way for long while, his body held tense and still until the throbbing eventually began to subside. When he felt sure that the worst was over, he carefully lifted his hand up in front of his face to inspect the damage. He could see that the swelling had gone down some, and his bloody knuckles had scabbed over, but the skin around the scabs was an angry shade of reddish-purple. Bracing himself, he slowly tried balling his hand into a fist, just as he had the night before. It hurt - hurt like hell - but he found that he could still manage it. Though the way his knuckles started throbbing again, it hardly seemed worth the effort. With a soft grunt, he lowered his battered hand back down onto the blanket.

From the corner of his eye he could see Merle sprawled out on his stomach across the bottom bunk, his mouth hanging open as he snored softly into Daryl's pillow. In his drunken state, Merle must have found it too difficult to climb up into his own bunk, so he'd taken Daryl's instead. Ordinarily it wouldn't have bothered Daryl too much - it wasn't the first time in their lives that sort of thing had happened - but after the night he'd been through, the thought of trying to tackle that ladder one-handed had made his throat constrict with silent rage and despair. He knew Merle managed to do it most nights (out of sheer stubbornness, he reckoned, because there were plenty of lower bunks to be had) but he couldn't bring himself to even attempt it, and with the last of his dwindling energy, he'd pulled the thin mattress down from the top bunk and spent the rest of the night on the floor.

Now, wincing, he propped himself up on one elbow, trying slowly to sit up without making a sound. He was still pretty rattled from the encounter he'd had with Merle the night before, and the thought of having to interact with him, as though nothing had happened, was making his guts churn. He wasn't ready for that. Not with his hand all mangled, and buzzing like a goddamn hornet's nest. Not with the hangover Merle would undoubtedly have - his brother's mood swings were difficult to navigate even on the best of days, but he was at his worst when he was trying to sleep off a night of heavy drinking. No, dealing with Merle would have to wait. First he needed to patch himself up and put some food in his belly.

He sat staring at his boots for several minutes, trying to decide if putting them on would be worth the struggle. He wondered how Merle dealt with this issue, and glanced curiously over at the corner of the cell where his brother had unceremoniously kicked his boots before collapsing onto the bed. They were an old, worn pair of pull-on, leather Frye boots; no laces. With a soft sigh, Daryl let his gaze wander back across the floor to his own lace-ups, sitting in front of him. A short while later, he slipped silently out of their cell, padding down the hallway in his bare feet.

The concrete floor was painfully cold, but luckily, it didn't take him long to find what he was looking for. The word "infirmary" had been painted high on one of the walls in the hallway that lead to the cafeteria, and a red arrow pointed the way to an adjacent corridor that lead right up to a large set of double doors marked, "Corrections Health Services." There didn't seem to be anyone hanging around the place, and unlike the double doors to the cafeteria, which were left propped open at all times, these were closed up tight. For a moment he worried that they might be locked - the left side was, in fact - but when he tried the handle on the other side, it swung right open. The room he found on the other side was in decent shape, and looked like it had been recently cleaned, which surprised him. He'd been expecting something a little less hospitable - blood on the walls, shit scattered everywhere, broken glass and bullet holes, that sort of thing. He'd stumble upon that sort of scenario too often to count in the last few months, especially in places where the sick had congregated. From the way Rick told it, waking up in that abandoned hospital in King County had been like waking up in a blood-soaked nightmare, and after everything he'd seen, Daryl had never had any cause to doubt it. But this place was another story all together. It had obviously been picked over - most of the shelves were empty, or very nearly - but any sign of what had undoubtedly taken place in that infirmary when things had first gone to shit had been carefully scrubbed away. With bleach, from the smell of it. Frank and his crew were settling in for the long haul.

To his far right was a set of large white cabinets that spanned nearly half of the wall they were set back against. It seemed the obvious place to begin his search, and he was not disappointed. At one time there had been a lock on the cabinet, but it looked to have been recently broken; that was the first thing he noticed. The second was a distinct lack of painkillers. All of the typical, over-the-counter stuff was there, of course - aspirin, ibuprofen, acetaminophen, naproxen, you name it - but nothing harder. No narcotics. Since it seemed unlikely that the infirmary wouldn't have had any in stock, they had either been stolen, or were being stowed somewhere else, for safekeeping. Given what Merle had told him about Frank's zero-tolerance drug policy, he was willing to bet that if the stuff was still in the prison, it was locked up in the Warden's office.

Which was just as well, he decided, reaching over to grab a bottle of ibuprofen from the shelf in front of him. The over-the-counter shit might not dull the pain as much as a Vicodin or a Percocet, but it also wouldn't make him drowsy or muddle his brain, which was the last thing he needed.

Opening the bottle was a challenge, but soon he had a handful of bright orange pills, which he popped into his mouth and chewed up, crunching them between his back teeth like hard candy. They were bitter as shit going down, but Merle had always insisted that chewing pills made them work faster, and he'd never bothered to question it; if Merle knew one thing, it was drugs. Still, he couldn't help but pull a sour face as he poured himself another handful and dropped them into his right hip pocket for later.

Further down, he found the dressing kits. He grabbed a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, Bactine, a whole mess of gauze, and an ace bandage, then had a seat on one of the hospital gurneys. In spite of the one-handed awkwardness of the operation, in just shy of fifteen minutes he was wrapped up and feeling slightly less pathetic. Carefully, he pulled his sleeve down over his bandaged hand as far as it would go, trying to make it look less conspicuous, then headed out toward the cafeteria.

It seemed overly loud in the mess hall that morning, but maybe it was simply because he wasn't keen on the idea of being around other people; especially the trigger-happy assholes that made up Frank's crew. But he needed to put something in his stomach or the pills would make him sick, so he slipped inside, trying his best to go unnoticed. He grabbed a few biscuits and a bottle of water off the end of the line, shoving one of the biscuits into his mouth immediately, eager to have something other than the bitter taste of the painkillers on his tongue. As he quickly turned to leave, a few of the guys in line called out to him. He supposed they recognized him from the raiding party the day before, or else they were friends of Merle's. He acknowledged them with a slight nod of his head, and for a split second, he considered following Abraham's advice. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to head over there and start playing nice with the others. He knew he tended to come off as strange and suspicious to new people, and after what had happened with Scutter the day before, it wouldn't hurt to grease the wheels a bit. Do a little damage control. But good idea or no, he found that he didn't have it in him, and quickly escaped back out into the hallway.

He wasn't there to make friends, he reminded himself. Certainly not with these people. So maybe nobody was going to warm to him, but it also wasn't like him to seek out new people, and if he started acting out of the ordinary, Merle was bound to notice. And by himself, Merle was a bigger threat than all of those other idiots combined.

Daryl was finishing up his second biscuit as he turned down the hallway to the dormitories. The ibuprofen was just starting to kick in, and he was ready to tackle his bootlaces. But a few yards from his cell, he picked up on the faint sound of hushed voices coming from inside. He stopped abruptly, shifting closer to the wall to avoid being seen, then crept along, slow and silent, until he was close enough to make out what was being said. He placed them immediately - Frank and Abraham were inside, and they were talking with Merle. Giving him instructions, from the sound of it, though he seemed to have caught the tail end of things.

"…in charge 'til we get back," Frank was saying, "Not more than a few hours, but I want men out in those towers, and a few more walking the perimeter. I don't want to come back to any nasty surprises."

Merle grunted in response, sounding irritated. "You're the boss." There was a pause after that - it was brief, but it was held just a little too long for Daryl's comfort. Merle was pushing buttons as usual, and it seemed Frank was in no mood for it.

"Good," Frank said at last, his voice sounding flat and restrained. Then, with a slight, downward shift in his tone, he asked, "Where is he now?"

Merle uttered a soft, raspy noise that sounded like a laugh. "Prob'ly at breakfast," he muttered. "You seen how thin he is. Pickins are gettin' pretty slim out there. They must be runnin' on empty, or nearabouts."

"All the more reason to get this over with," Frank said grimly. "We don't need any more competition. Bad enough we've got those yahoos up north to contend with…"

Frank went on, and Daryl wasn't sure what he was talking about anymore. But what he had understood was encouraging - two of the three people who seemed determined to keep tabs on him were leaving for the day, and he knew his own brother well enough to know that there was no way Merle was getting out of that bed before noon. He wouldn't get a better opportunity to search the prison from top to bottom. As soon as Frank and Abraham left, Merle would go right back to sleeping off his hangover, and he'd have free run of the place.

Distracted as he was, it took him a few seconds to realize that the voices had suddenly stopped. Moving quickly, he backed up a few steps and shoved another biscuit into his mouth, just as Frank stepped out into the hallway, with Abraham following close behind. On the pretense of a full mouth, Daryl simply nodded his head at them in greeting.

"Good morning, Daryl," Frank said with a toothy grin, nodding back. Abraham nodded as well, but he was frowning slightly, and said nothing.

"We were just talking about you," Frank continued, hooking his thumbs in his belt. "Abraham and I have to head out for awhile to…" He titled his head, ever so slightly. "…take care of a few things."

Daryl reluctantly swallowed, and said cautiously, "Alright… Was there somethin' you needed from me?"

Frank glanced at Abraham, then looked back to Daryl, his smile widening. "Yes, actually. Though I hate to put you out - I know you were planning on using today to rest up and prepare for your…_hunting trip,_" he said conspiratorially, quirking an eyebrow, "but as it turns out, I'm going to need you to head out a bit sooner than we originally planned."

Daryl frowned. While there was nothing in the world he wanted more than to get away from the prison and back to his group at the RV park, this sudden change in plans was troubling.

"How soon are we talkin'?" he asked.

"Sundown," Frank said firmly. "Abraham and I should be back by then, and he'll see you off. He can even escort you part of the way, if you'd like. I know I'd feel better about it if he did - wouldn't want you getting overrun before you even make it to the woods."

There was something in the man's tone that didn't sit well with Daryl, something that set his teeth on edge. It wasn't exactly threatening; more like…_amusement_. Like they were playing a game.

"What's the hurry?" Daryl asked evenly, trying to mask his concern. "I thought we agreed on first thing tomorrow?"

The change in Frank seemed to come on as suddenly as the change in plans; something ominous

flashed behind the man's eyes, and his face shifted, darkening noticeably.

"I've changed my mind," he said softly, with a faint sneer. "And that's all there is to it. So if I were you, I'd stop wasting everyone's time and get my shit together quick, because as soon as we get back, you're going to have to start earning your keep."

Without another word, Frank turned his back to them and stalked off down the hallway, headed for the yard. Abraham hung back, favoring Daryl with an uncomfortable look. He almost seemed embarrassed.

Keeping his voice low, Daryl raised his eyebrows at the ex-sergeant and asked incredulously, "He wants me to go at sundown? What the hell's the point of that? I can't track in the dark, and

everybody knows the geeks are more active at night."

Abraham sighed heavily through his nose and shook his head, his eyes glued on Frank's retreating back. "I know…" he said under his breath, "But there's no telling him. Not when he gets like this… Truth is," he continued, turning back to look at Daryl, "we're running out of time. There's another group putting pressure on us, just north of here. That's where we're headed today, to do some re-con on them. It's got Frank all wound up - I think he's concerned that _your_ group and this other one might rally against us… I don't think that's likely, but he feels he needs to get this situation under control, a-sap."

Daryl narrowed his eyes. The whole thing sounded wrong to him. It sounded like an excuse, like a _lie_. Though he knew that there could still be other groups of survivors out there - The Vatos back in Atlanta had been proof enough of that. Hell, those boys had even tried to warn them about the "others;" organized groups scattered about, and not all of them friendly. Coming in like hyenas and picking off the weak, scavenging off the dead. He'd just assumed that Frank's people were the "others" they'd been talking about. It hadn't occurred to him until now that there could be something worse, still out there, still unaccounted for. If Abraham was telling the truth, then Rick was more right than he knew; giving up the prison was not an option.

Abraham noticed the tension in his face, and seemed to mistake it for anxiousness. Clapping him on the shoulder encouragingly, he said, "Try not to sweat it. It's only the difference of a few hours, really. Nothing you can't handle."

Daryl regarded the big man from the corner of his eye, and nodded reluctantly. "Yeah…" he said quietly. "Yeah, you're right. Don't worry, I'll be ready when you get back."

Abraham offered Daryl a tight, thin-lipped smile. "That's what I like to hear. I'll leave you to it." Then, giving him a pointed look, he said quietly, "We'll be back before you know it. Try to keep your nose clean."

Daryl's mouth quirked up on one side, but his eyes were unsmiling, and dead set on Abraham's. There was no mistaking the large man's meaning this time - he was being warned.

"Best get a move on before the boss man blows a gasket," Daryl chided, then turned away from him and stepped back into his cell. He didn't move another inch until he heard the sound of Abraham's footsteps disappearing down the hall.

Across the cell, Merle was sitting up on the bottom bunk, his forehead resting on the palm of his hand.

"Say hey, big brother," Daryl said absently, as he began gathering up his things.

Merle made a wet, guttural noise in response.

Without a word, Daryl handed Merle the bottle of water and his last biscuit. Merle accepted them both without comment, and took a few small, cautious sips from the bottle.

"Hey, we're twins," he said after a moment, gesturing at Daryl's bandaged hand with his stump. "Always tryin' to be like your big brother, eh? Never quite get it right, though, do ya?"

Daryl didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he moved to the opposite wall across from the bunks, and leaned back against it, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze traveled over to the narrow window at the back of their cell and lingered there for a long while, looking without really seeing it.

Eventually, he said, "They tell me I'm leavin' tonight."

Merle bobbed his head, slowly and gently. "Yeah, that's what I hear," he said, exhaling his words. "Takin' my chopper, too, I suppose?"

Daryl's eyes flickered in Merle direction for an instant, then went back to the window.

"That alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's alright," Merle sighed, sounding almost rueful. "Don't think I could ride it no more anyhow."

Daryl furrowed his brown slightly, and huffed through his nose. "Psh. I wouldn't put it past ya."

Merle chuckled at that. Daryl glanced over at the sound and saw that his brother was favoring him with a weak smile. "Well, shit. Maybe when you get back, I'll give it a whirl."

Daryl shifted his weight, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Yeah, maybe," he said.

A long beat of silence stretched out between them, until finally Merle said, "Well, I guess you better make sure you come back, then, or we'll never find out."

He looked right at Daryl then, and Daryl could feel a lump growing in his throat.

"Merle-" he began, clearing his throat, but Merle quickly cut him off.

"Ain't you got somewhere else to be?" he grunted, gingerly lowering himself back down onto the mattress.

Daryl nodded, looking past his shoulder and out the cell door. "Yeah… Yeah, I'd better go pack some things..."

But it became immediately clear from the way that Merle rolled over and turned his back to him that he considered the conversation over, so Daryl grabbed his boots, clipped his knife to his belt and left.

After a good ten minutes or so of struggling, Daryl managed to tie his boots passably well, and the first place he headed was the administrative wing, where the Warden's office was located. He was a little nervous at first about running into some of the other guys and having to make up an excuse for what he was doing up there, but after passing a few of them in the halls, he discovered that no one seemed all that interested. Maybe it was because they barely knew him, or because he'd been seen in the company of both Merle and Abraham since the moment he'd arrived, but whatever the reason, he found that his presence was generally tolerated and ignored.

The door to Warden's office was locked - no surprise there - but the door to the records office right across the hall wasn't, and after a perfunctory search, he found something useful. In the bottom drawer of a set of grey, metal filing cabinets, he found some maps of the surrounding area and a copy of the prison's blueprints. These he folded neatly, then slipped into the back waistband of his pants, hidden underneath his shirttails. On his way out the door, he slipped a couple of pens and a highlighter into his pocket for good measure.

From there, he headed out the back door, toward the armory. It was in a separate building, facing the hill. It had occurred to him the first time Abraham had brought him out there that if his group hoped to take the prison, then Frank's people would have to be cut off from their weapons. He knew most of the boys kept a sidearm or two in their cells, and there wasn't much he could do about that, but if he could manage to keep the big guns, riot gear, and extra ammo out of their hands when the time came, then his group might just have a fighting chance. The real shame was that he couldn't get any of this gear to his own people ahead of time; but the bike was his only transport, and it wouldn't carry much. Plus it was very likely that they would notice if anything went missing, and he didn't want to raise any more red flags. So with theft out of the question, he'd need to seal up the armory somehow. Get some chains on the doors, maybe. Heavy chains, like the ones he'd seen on the doors to the walker hallway. He'd seen some in the cellblock where they'd kept him locked up that first night. The locks, on the other hand, would have to come from outside the prison, just to be on the safe side. Even in all the commotion, he didn't want to run the risk of Frank being able to open them.

After inspecting the entrances, Daryl explored the armory itself. In amongst the riot gear, he found a collection of gas masks and some silver canisters marked _RIOT CS SMOKE_, which he highly suspected were tear gas grenades. His original plan had been to set a fire and drive Frank's boys out into the open with the smoke, but this… This was much better. Faster, easier, more efficient; he could set them off in several places at once, and there was no risk of accidentally burning the place down. All he needed to do was bar the back exits ahead of time, leaving them nowhere to go but out the front. Then, with a gas mask in place, he could walk through the fog undetected and take down any stragglers.

With the beginnings of a plan in place, Daryl spent the rest of the day searching the prison for a weak entry point. What he quickly discovered was that without armed guards, lock-down and alarm systems, the prison actually had a lot of them - at least for anyone with a brain. The layers of perimeter fences would keep the geeks out, but wouldn't hardly slow down a group of people with wire cutters - something to remember when the prison was finally theirs. But then, he fully planned on learning and benefiting from _all_ of Frank's mistakes. Because the way he saw it, Frank had gotten cocky. With only a few men on guard duty each night, if Daryl's group attacked from behind, over the hill and out of view from the watch towers, Frank's people would never see them coming. All they had to do was send in a couple of people to ambush the guards and take the watch towers, and when the tear gas was set off and Frank's men scattered into the yard, they could pick them off from a guarded position above. The plan wasn't without its flaws, but it could work.

One thing was for certain, though - they'd have to be damned sure that Frank and his crew were gone for good when the smoke finally cleared.


	20. Chapter 20

"_Hey now, all you sinners, put your lights on, put your lights on…" - Santana/Everlast_

Ember

Chapter 20 - Flicker

When the time came for Daryl to leave, his brother was nowhere to be found. He'd disappeared sometime earlier in the day while Daryl was exploring the prison, and hadn't been seen or heard from since. Knowing Merle, he was probably off on another bender with a few of "the boys," hiding out in some remote cell block. Either that, or he'd slipped away on Frank's orders, and by now was raising hell in some other part of the state - probably up to his elbows in no good. Or maybe he was holed up in a closet somewhere, pulling the wings off flies - who could say anymore? All Daryl knew for certain was that when he'd returned to the cell that afternoon to pick up his crossbow, it had been empty.

He knew it was for the best - the less he had to see of Merle, the easier things would be - but his brother's absence had left him feeling conflicted. As much as he hated to admit it, a small part of him still felt the same old sting of hurt and rejection he'd always felt whenever Merle had left him behind, and it pissed him off. It didn't seem to matter that he'd made up his mind, or how many times he reminded himself that Merle was a lost cause; making peace with his decision was proving difficult.

He didn't have long to brood about it, however, because as soon as it began to get dark, Abraham came to collect him. He was sitting quietly on his bunk when the big man appeared in the doorway, spinning a ring of keys on the tip of his index finger. They exchanged nods, and then without a word, Daryl grabbed his few belongings and followed Abraham out of the building.

The sun had already set behind the trees, but Daryl could still make out the dark silhouette of Abraham's dust-gray pick-up truck waiting for them out by the front gate. He was confused at first, until he noticed that Merle's chopper had been loaded onto the bed of the truck.

"What the hell is all this?" he growled, his face darkening.

Abraham sighed, shrugged his broad shoulders apologetically. "Frank's orders," he said. "He wants me to drive you out to the drop-off point."

Daryl looked up at the man and shook his head, frowning. "That _ain't_ what we agreed on."

Abraham frowned right back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Look," he said sternly, starting to sound impatient, "it's nothing personal, alright? It's just a precautionary measure. We're making sure you get where you need to be, that's all."

Daryl snorted, narrowing his eyes. He wasn't an idiot; Frank wasn't concerned about his safety, he was concerned about losing control. Changing the plan served to remind Daryl of who was in charge, and kept him on the defensive. He'd adapted quickly the last time, but this new hiccup was going to be a real setback; he'd made a point of placing his decoy hunting grounds as far from the RV park as possible - miles away, in the opposite direction. Once Abraham dropped him off, he'd have to turn around and double back.

Kicking up a fuss, however, would only arouse more suspicion, so instead he muttered a half-hearted curse and climbed into the passenger side of the pick-up truck. Abraham joined him, and within moments they were passing through the front gates, leaving the prison behind them.

Phase one of the plan was over; from there on out, things were going to get _really_ dangerous.

Despite all the messed up shit that had happened at the prison, he hadn't been afraid. Worst case scenario, he got himself killed, and he'd already been prepared for that possibility for awhile. But now, moving into phase two, other people were going to be involved. _His_ people.

He wasn't worried about Rick - the man could handle himself, and he knew exactly what he was getting into. He'd calculated the risks and made his choice. Andrea was solid, and he'd never seen Michonne in action, but the way she'd wielded that sword against her own "pets," there was little doubt in his mind that she could hold her own. T was strong and capable, and he wasn't afraid to get in the middle of things when shit got crazy. Hell, even Glenn and Maggie had taken down their fair share of dead people. But Hershel? The kids? And Lori… Lori was a lousy shot, and pregnant to boot. He wondered, if anything happened to Lori or Carl in the middle of the fire fight, would Rick be able to keep his shit together? And for that matter, what about Carol?

_Carol. Fuck._

He flinched at the thought, and reached into his pocket, fingering the tiny scrap of fabric he'd found on his foray into town. From the moment he'd seen it and realized what it meant, he'd been trying his hardest not to think about Carol. At the prison, there'd been so much going on that he'd been able to keep pushing her to the back of his mind, but he had a feeling that as soon as he was alone on that bike, he wouldn't be able to do that anymore.

A tapping sound caught his attention, and he glanced over at Abraham, who had taken a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and was tapping the bottom against the steering wheel.

"Alright if I smoke?" he asked, bringing the pack to his mouth and pulling out a cigarette with his teeth. He tucked the pack back in his pocket and started fishing around in the other for his lighter.

Daryl shrugged and turned away. "Whatever, man," he murmured. "It's your car." He stared out the window into the darkness, resting his elbow on the doorframe, and began to absently chew on his thumbnail. It smelled of antiseptic, and left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Abraham's lighter clicked on behind him, and in the momentary glow, he could see his face reflected back at him in the window.

He looked like hell.

He'd lost some weight in the last few months, and his face was beginning to border on too thin. The crags and crevices stood out in stark contrast in the dim light, and his eyes looked sunken, almost as deep as a walker's. His hair was a stringy, greasy rat's nest, and his beard was patchy and wild, sticking out in all directions. He looked like some starved, feral animal. Which he supposed wasn't too far from the truth.

A second later, the lighter clicked off, and he was back to staring out into the blackness. Behind him, he heard Abraham roll his window down a crack, then exhale, long and slow. He turned to look at the man, and found himself wondering, not for the first time, what was going on inside his head. Out of everyone he'd been exposed to at the prison, Abraham was the only one who didn't feel right, who didn't seem to _fit_. By all accounts, he seemed a genuinely decent person; but given what Daryl knew about the rest of his group, that simply wasn't possible. Decent men didn't turn a blind eye to the deadly, fucked up shit Frank's men got up to, no matter how bad the world had become.

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling the Abraham was holding something back. He'd been inexplicably helpful from the moment Daryl had arrived at the prison, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why. It certainly wasn't out of any sense of loyalty to Merle; they may have been civil on the surface, but it was obvious to anyone with half a brain that his brother and the ex-sergeant didn't like each other.

Daryl frowned. It just didn't add up.

Abraham must have noticed, because he reached back into his pocket and held the pack of cigarettes out to Daryl.

"I'm sorry, did you want one of these?" he asked. "You've always said no, so I didn't think to offer this time."

Daryl blinked, taken aback. "Nah, I'm alright," he said quickly.

Abraham favored him with a wry smile, returning the pack to his pocket. "I can't tell you what a relief it is to be around someone who doesn't smoke for a change. I swear half of every pack disappears before I even get it, and it's not like they're making them any more."

Daryl watched the cherry on the end of Abraham's cigarette glow bright red in the darkness as he took another pull from it.

"What're you gonna do when they run out?" he asked, mildly curious.

Abraham shrugged. "Guess I'll have to quit."

Daryl couldn't help but smirk. "Just like that?" he asked.

"Won't have much of a choice, will I?" Abraham said with a rueful grin. He flicked the ash from his cigarette out the cracked window, and then added, almost as an afterthought, "Besides, I've done it before."

"Yeah?" Daryl said, raising an eyebrow, "So why'd you start up again?"

Abraham snorted and gestured at the windshield with the hand holding the cigarette, making a sweeping motion across the dashboard at the passing landscape.

"_Stress_," he said pointedly, and took another drag.

Daryl chuckled softly. "Yeah, I guess that'll do it."

"You got that right," Abraham agreed. "But if I'm going to be honest, I was on my way to climbing back on the wagon a few months before this shit went down. I never really wanted to quit in the first place."

"Why'd you'd do it?" Daryl asked.

"Ah," Abraham grunted, shaking his head, "I wanted to set a good example. Right before the world ended, I was coaching high school athletics."

"I thought you were in the in the army," Daryl said, confused. "Merle said you were ex-military."

"Yeah, and he wasn't lying," Abraham said. "But that was years ago. I hung up my camos and dog tags for gym shorts and a whistle. "

"Heh," Daryl laughed. "Shit, with a background like that, I'm surprised you don't make those sumbitches take laps around the prison yard."

"Nah, I left my whistle back in Auburn," Abraham said with a grin. "Anyway, enough about me, what about you? What did you do before all this, Daryl? You're a clever guy, but you don't strike me as a desk jockey."

Daryl shrugged, scratching at his chin. "Nothin' to write home about. Never had anything but shit jobs. Last one, I worked nights at the chicken processin' plant just outsida town. Mostly loadin' trucks and moppin' up the kill floor."

"Sounds lovely," Abraham said, his voice thick with sarcasm, and a hint of sympathy.

"Yeah, it was about as nasty as you'd expect," Daryl agreed. "But nothing worse than what we've been dealing with lately, and it didn't smell half as bad. 'Course the pay was shit, but it kept the bank from takin' the house… Barely." He paused for a moment, an uncomfortable realization sinking in. "Hell, the whole thing seems like a big fuckin' waste of time now."

"A lot of things do," Abraham sighed, blowing smoke out through his nose. He was quiet for a long while after that, and seemed lost inside his head. It wasn't until the houses on the outskirts of town began cropping up that he spoke again.

"You know, you and your brother are the only guys at the prison who still have a surviving relative," he said, seemingly out of nowhere. "I guess you're lucky in that respect."

Not knowing how else to respond, Daryl reluctantly agreed. "Guess so." He thought about reminding Abraham that it had been less than twenty-four hours since he'd told him that he shouldn't trust Merle, but then thought better of it. Instead, he said, "There's a fork in the road comin' up soon. If we head to the right, there's a service road about ten miles down that runs alongside the area of woods where I wanna start lookin.' That should be as good a place as any for a drop-off point."

"You got it," Abraham said, and when the road forked, he stayed to the right. Soon the houses gave way to woods, and before too long, a narrow dirt road veered off on the right.

"That's it," Daryl said, pointing. "Turn here."

They followed the narrow road for about half a mile before Daryl told Abraham to stop the car. Abraham pulled the truck over, leaving the headlights on, and they climbed out. Clicking on their flashlights, they went around to the back of the truck and opened the tailgate. There was a plank inside that Abraham pulled out and set against the tailgate, creating a makeshift ramp. Getting the bike down was a bit tricky in the dark, but luckily Daryl had done it before, and didn't have any major problems. He wheeled it off to the side of the road, then walked back to the cab to retrieve the rest of his things.

"Alright," Abraham said when they were finished, "Just so you know, if we don't hear from you in a few days, someone's going to come out here looking for you."

Daryl had to bite his tongue. That hadn't been part of the original plan, either, but by now, Daryl knew it was useless to argue about it.

"Got it," was all he said.

Abraham offered his hand then, and Daryl took it.

"Take care of yourself," he said, "And remember, if you find them, don't do anything stupid. Just observe and report back."

"I said I got it," Daryl grumbled. "You don't gotta worry about me, I ain't one a your dumbass crew."

Abraham smirked at that, but said nothing. He let go of Daryl's hand and turned to walk back to the truck.

Daryl watched him go, standing just on the edge of the tree line while the truck circled around and drove off - he didn't move a muscle until its taillights had vanished in the distance. Once he was sure he was alone, he crossed back to the chopper and began loading it up, taking his time to secure everything tightly in place.

Clicking off his flashlight, he climbed onto the bike and waited, still and silent in the darkness. He sat there for several minutes, listening carefully for the faint sound of the truck's engine, but all he could hear was the wind, and the sound of dried leaves skittering across the road. Still, he waited.

The plan had been to meet up with a few of the others at the truck stop, so there would be less chance of leading anyone from the prison back to their camp. But with everything that had changed, he'd be arriving much too early. He'd have to go directly to the RV park. As much as he hated the thought of putting his people at risk, time was working against them. He'd just have to be especially cautious on the ride back, and keep a sharp eye on his tail.

After nearly half an hour of waiting, he kick-started the bike and it roared to life, shattering the silence. Swinging around, he headed back down the dirt road, and started the long trek back to the highway.


	21. Chapter 21

A new year, a new computer, a new chapter. Slow and steady wins the race, or so I'm told.

Ember  
Chapter 21 - Soft Glow

Perched on a fallen log, miles away from service road eighty-seven, Carol lifted her face away from their small campfire to gaze up at the night sky, drawing in a deep, shaky breath. The air was cold, and it might have been her imagination, but she thought that underneath the smoke and the scent of decaying leaves, she could detect the faintest hint of snow. There wasn't a cloud in sight, luckily, but the stars sparkled with the hard, crystal-clarity of approaching winter, and it served to remind her of what the coming months would have in store for them. Assuming, of course, that they made it that far.

Beside her, taking up most of the log, sat Tyreese, who was entertaining some of the others with a story from when Julie was a little girl. It was the sort of story that would not have been tolerated had the girl been anywhere within earshot, but as it happened, she was down by the front gate, keeping the first watch of the night with Chris and Beth.

The teens had volunteered for the shift earlier that afternoon. As a group, they'd spent the better part of the day out by the abandoned highway, shooting at targets, and under Rick and Andrea's careful tutelage, Julie, Chris and Tyreese had been taught how to handle a gun. They'd each been given a weapon from one of the big, black duffel bags that Carol had recovered on her first foray into town, and when the day's lessons were over, they'd been told to hang on to them. The kids, no doubt eager to flaunt their newly acquired status within the group, had immediately offered to take a shift on guard duty. After a few minutes consideration, Rick had decided to allow it - if a little grudgingly - with the condition that they would only be given shifts during the hours when most of the adults would still be up and about. It had been an act of pure diplomacy on Rick's part, Carol knew. The kids were safely inside the fence, and they hadn't seen any walkers around camp since Michonne had arrived with her "pets" in tow. But it gave the kids a way to contribute, to feel what it was to shoulder some of the weighty responsibility of keeping the group safe, and in a lot of ways, that was just as important as teaching them to shoot a gun.

Unfortunately, there had already been some unexpected repercussions to this experiment in maturity. Carl, who'd proven himself to be level-headed in a crisis and a crack shot to boot, was sitting on the ground by his mother's feet, glowering into the flames of their campfire. He'd tried going down to the front gate to join the older kids a few times, but had been repeatedly chased off by Chris, who had decided that the boy was too young to be considered anything but a nuisance. Carl was understandably hurt and furious about the whole thing, to say nothing of the blow to his pride. Carol feared that Chris, in his eagerness to be treated as an adult, might have unwittingly made an enemy of the boy.

It was a real shame, and she hoped it would be dealt with quickly, before any real, lingering resentment could develop between the two young men. Because up until that point, it had pleased her to see how easily Tyreese and his family had been settling in to life at the camp. As Michonne had predicted, Tyreese had quickly proven himself to be an asset to the group. Apart from his obvious strength and speed, he was smart, capable, and not at all afraid of getting his hands dirty. Just earlier that day, she'd seen him deftly take down four walkers, armed with nothing but the hammer he'd had when they'd found him. The geeks had come stumbling out of the woods by the side of the highway - the very same woods that Tyreese and his small family had stumbled out of only days before - drawn by the sound of their gunfire. It had been the high point of the day; the kids had been able to keep their fear in check enough to regard the walkers as moving targets, and had actually managed to drop a few before they reached the edge of the road. But as clips emptied and the last few drew a little too close for comfort, Tyreese had calmly pulled the hammer from his back pocket and strode out across the road to meet them. What followed had been quick and brutal, but undeniably impressive.

Still, what impressed Carol more than anything else, was that in spite of it all, Tyreese seemed to be a genuinely decent person. With a subtle tilt of her head, she glanced over at the man, who by now was deeply engrossed in his own story. His face was bright and animated, without so much as a hint of the ugliness she'd witnessed that afternoon. They'd become fast friends over the last few days. The initial fondness she'd felt for him had only deepened with the more time they spent in each other's company, and she found that she wasn't alone in this - everyone seemed to have warmed to Tyreese, even Michonne, who was still in the habit of keeping her distance from most of the group. (When she had mentioned, incredulously, how unusual this was to Tyreese, he had simply laughed and told her that they had bonded one afternoon over a shared love of basketball and weightlifting, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.)

But if anyone had taken a particular shine to the man, it was T-Dog. Before Tyreese had come along, she hadn't realized what a huge sports fanatic T was - she could only assume that this was because there hadn't been much of a reason to talk about football before - but it had become obvious over the last few days that T's admiration for the ex-ballplayer was colored with more than a touch of hero worship. Whenever there was any down time, and the two of them had an opportunity to chat, the conversation always seemed to veer off in the direction of what Tyreese liked to refer to affectionately, and with no small amount of self-deprecating irony, as his "glory days." It didn't seem to matter how much he protested that he'd been a hopeless quarterback, T-Dog couldn't get enough. He'd even gone so far as to approach Glenn and Maggie about keeping their eyes open for a football on their supply runs. Tyreese had groaned when word of this had gotten back to him, but everyone could tell that he was secretly pleased.

The thought made Carol smile. If there was anything more infectious than TS-19, it was an enthusiastic Theodore Douglas.

In fact, it was the rich, warm sound of T's laughter that drew Carol's attention back to the campfire and her companions. Tyreese was at the end of his story. She hadn't missed anything - he'd told her the same one earlier that evening, while they'd been gathering kindling out at the wooded area on the edge of the park. She'd been the one who had encouraged him to share it with the others; if for no other reason than that it was good for morale. It seemed to her that nothing brought people together quite like a shared story.

Just as Carol was thinking this, she saw something slink past out of the corner of her eye - a silent shadow, headed for the dusty, goldenrod Winnebago at the far end of camp - and in an instant, she knew that she was wrong.

There was something that connected people better than their shared histories. Surviving together. Protecting each other. Fighting side by side.

She hadn't spoken very much with Michonne outside of their training, and like everyone else, she knew almost nothing about the woman's past. But that didn't change the fact that Carol had felt a deep connection with the enigmatic swordswoman, ever since they'd escaped out that tiny, backroom window together.

The stories were lovely, and they needed to hold on to those memories for as long as they could, but sometimes words could be empty, fragile things. Sometimes actions spoke volumes where words failed.

While she was pondering this, Glenn began to tell a story of his own; One about his mother and his sisters, and how they had never given him a moment's peace. This was another story that Carol had heard before, but much like Glenn himself, it hadn't lost any of its sweetness. Still, she was only half-listening, and after a few moments, she began to notice that Tyreese was fidgeting anxiously beside her, his leg bouncing up and down with pent-up frustration. Without thinking to much about it, Carol reached over and placed a comforting hand on his knee. The leg stilled, and he turned slightly, giving her a small, pained smile of gratitude.

Carol returned the smile, patting his knee. Then, crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned in a bit and whispered, "I'll be right back."

She stood up, moving slowly, her muscles stiff from sitting so long in the cold. Nodding an unspoken apology to Glenn so as not to interrupt, she stepped away from the warm glow of the circle.

As she headed over to her trailer, she spotted Beth coming back up to the fire. She stopped for a moment to watch the girl as she made her way over to Carl and sat down close beside him, hugging her knees to her chest. After a few seconds, Beth leaned over and gently bumped her shoulder against his. When this failed to elicit any response from the sullen boy, she leaned over again and laid the side of her head against the top of his. Carol couldn't see their faces from where she stood, but she could see Lori's in profile as she gazed lovingly at the young pair, and what she saw there was encouraging.

Smiling to herself, Carol climbed the steps to her RV and quietly slipped inside. Clicking on her flashlight, she walked to the narrow hall closet and grabbed a thick, ratty blanket from the shelf. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she reached into the tiny bathroom and grabbed a few handfuls of tissue, which she stuffed into her pants pocket. Before stepping out the door, she reached back to make sure that her gun was still securely in place. She knew it was there, of course - the bit of metal resting against her back was very cold - but she still needed to be sure she could get to it in a hurry, even with the blanket. If she hadn't been so cold, she might have laughed a little - preparing herself for a trip out to the "bathroom" these days was a lot like preparing for battle.

When she was satisfied, she stepped back out to find Tyreese waiting at the bottom of her steps.

"I said I'd be right back," she said, scolding him gently.

Tyreese shrugged, offering her a rather sheepish grin, and said, "Just thought you might like some company."

Carol raised an eyebrow, making a face at him. "Um, thanks..." she said, coming down the stairs and stepping around him, "But I think I can handle going to the bathroom all by myself."

Tyreese laughed, turning to follow after her. "Aw, come on, I didn't mean anything weird by it," he protested cheerfully, "I just don't like the idea of you going out into the dark alone, especially when you'll be in such a, uh...vulnerable state."

Carol chuckled at that, and encouraged by her response, Tyreese quickened his step, pulling up beside her.

"Don't worry," he promised, "I'll be sure to keep a respectful distance. And I won't think any less of you in the morning."

"Huh. Ain't you a peach," Carol said playfully, pursing her lips.

"Well, what can I say?" Tyreese sighed with mock resignation, "My Mama raised me right. And, while we're out there, if you should suddenly find yourself in need of any assistance-"

"With what, exactly?" Carol asked dubiously, her mouth curling up in a wry smile. "My buttons?"

"Sure, sure," Tyreese said agreeably, nodding his head, "Or, you know, if you're suddenly attacked by anything... But yeah, sure, if you need help with your buttons, I'll be right there."

"Well, now, how could a girl refuse an offer like that?" she said, and they both chuckled.

"No, but seriously," he said, his tone shifting slightly, "everyone else goes out in pairs. There's no reason why you should have to, uh... go it alone."

"Oof," Carol muttered, wincing at the pun. But after a long beat of silence she said, "Well...thank you, Tyreese. That's very kind of you."

"Nah..." Tyreese assured her, "To be honest, my motives aren't as pure as I've been making them out to be."

Carol laughed again, harder this time. "Even better," she said, shaking her head.

"I was just getting pretty antsy back at camp, is all," he confessed. "This seemed like a good way to pass the time."

"You're going to need to find yourself a better hobby," she said, slowly coming to a stop. They had reached an open, grassy area out behind the last row of trailers - not far from camp, but far enough to be out of the way.

"This works," she said, handing him the flashlight and the blanket. "Here, hold these for a minute and wait right there."

"Yes, m'am," Tyreese said, draping the blanket over his forearm and turning around. "Just holler if you need anything."

Stepping carefully, Carol walked out into the middle of the field. As she crouched down in the tall grass, she called out, "You don't think there are still ticks at this time of year, do you?"

"Uh...I'm not sure," he called back. "I suppose when you're done, I could help you check..."

"Stooop!" she groaned, rolling her eyes.

After a minute or so, she stood up, zipped her pants, and began to make her way back out of the field. At the sound of her approaching footsteps, Tyreese turned back around.

"So, out with it," she said suddenly, moving to take the blanket from him. "Tell me what's been bothering you."

"Huh?" Tyreese said with a start, blinking down at her. He was so taken off guard that it was almost comical.

"It's the kids, isn't it?" she said, taking hold of the flashlight. "You're worried about them."

Tyreese shifted his weight slightly, and frowned. He looked uncomfortable.

"Is it that obvious?" he said finally.

"No," Carol said, trying to sound reassuring, "No, only to someone paying close attention."

"Oh..." Tyreese was quiet for a moment. He reached back to scratch nervously at the patch of exposed skin between the collar of his jacket and bottom of his black knit cap.

"Well...yeah," he admitted finally, "I'm a little worried. But it's not just the watch, it's the guns, too. I know things are different now, but it still scares the shit out of me. I'm afraid they're gonna do something stupid and end up hurting someone. Or, god forbid, themselves."

"You know, you should try talking to Lori about this," Carol suggested. "She's been going through the same thing with Carl. I mean, maybe she'll have answers for you, and maybe she won't, but at the very least it might be comforting to talk to someone who's been there."

"Maybe..." Tyreese said thoughtfully, mulling it over. "Yeah, maybe I'll do that. I mean, Carl seems to be doing alright."

"Usually," Carol agreed. "Though some days are better than others." She gave him a pointed look, and Tyreese sighed through his nose.

"Yeah..." he muttered, "I'm going to have to have a talk with Chris. There's no doubt in my mind that if Rick hadn't decided to let us stay here, we'd be dead by now. Picking on the man's only son seems a really shitty way to repay his trust."

"Chris doesn't strike me as a bad kid," Carol offered kindly. "I think he just desperately wants to be treated like an adult."

"Huh," Tyreese grunted derisively, "Yeah, well, then he needs to start acting like one. Don't get me wrong, I feel for the kid. He hasn't had it easy. There were a lot of issues going on at home before the walkers came - that's why he was staying with us. I know he's not a bad kid, really, he's just a pain in the ass."

"Chris is all of what, sixteen?" Carol pointed out. "He still has some growing up to do. But he'll get there."

"The way things are now, he'd better hurry up," Tyreese said grimly. "If he's going to survive, he won't have much choice."

"Then this extra bit of responsibility could be good for him, don't you think?" she asked.

Tyreese sighed. "Yeah... Yeah, you're right. I _know_ you're right. That's why I've been biting my tongue this whole time."

Carol nodded sympathetically. "It's tough, I know."

"It was always tough," he agreed. "But talking helps. Thanks for that."

"It's nothing," she said, waving her hand dismissively. Then, gesturing toward the path with a tilt of her head, she said, "Come on, we should head back before people start worrying."

They started back down the path together in amiable silence, but after a few moments, he cleared his throat and said, "So you've been 'paying close attention' to me, huh?"

Carol inhaled sharply, her mouth popping open in mock outrage. "Don't be so pleased with yourself," she warned, "It's just easier for me to worry about your problems - it keeps me from thinking about on my own."

"I can appreciate that," he said. "It must be hard, being out here all by yourself,"

"I'm not all by myself," she objected.

"Well, no, of course not," he said, "but it seems like most of your people have partners... I just...it can get lonely, I know. That's all I'm saying."

Carol frowned slightly. "Well, yes, but-"

Without another word, or even a hint of warning, she felt Tyreese's arm slide across her back, hooking itself around her waist. In an instant she jumped back from him in surprise, twisting out of his grasp.

"Wait-" she began, but he quickly cut her off.

"I'm sorry," he said, "that was-"

"No, no, it's not that," she interjected, "it's just-"

"It's just, everything's so uncertain," he continued over her, "Any of us could die at any moment, and I don't see the point in beating around the bush. I like you, Carol. I think you like me, too. We could have some fun together, if you wanted to."

"Tyreese..." she began again slowly, not sure where to begin. "I do like you, but-"

"Moving too fast?" he hazarded.

"Yes," she sputtered, "I mean, _No!_ Listen-"

But before Carol could get another word out, a scream of distress split the night, causing them both to look up in alarm.

"That's Julie!" Tyreese cried, and in an instant he was gone, running for the front gate. Carol chased after him, but he was much too fast for her to keep up with, and she quickly found herself left behind. By the time she made it back to the fire at the center of camp, he was already halfway down the road to the gate, pulling ahead of Rick and the others.

When she finally reached the park's entrance, she found them standing together in semi-circle with their backs to her, blocking whatever was happening from her view. Pulling her gun from her waistband, she crept up behind Glenn and T to peer between their shoulders.

The first thing she saw was that Rick and Tyreese were a little further ahead, trying to gain control of the situation. It was very dark this far from the campfire, but she could just make out what was happening down by the gate from the dim glow of her flashlight. Chris was standing with his back to the gate, and several feet away, Julie stood facing him, her gun pointed at his head.

"Daddy?" Julie whimpered, her eyes never wavering from Chris.

"You better let that boy go right now if you want to keep that arm, mister," Tyreese threatened, taking a step forward. Before he could go any further, Rick placed a hand firmly in the center of his chest - an unspoken warning to stay back. When Tyreese tried to push past him, T-Dog stepped forward and grabbed him by the shoulders.

It was then that Carol realized her mistake. Julie wasn't pointing the gun at Chris, she was aiming at the person standing behind him. The person who had grabbed Chris through the bars, and was holding the boy in front of themself, using him as a human shield. The owner of the very large knife that was pressed against Chris' throat.


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I don't own anybody except Frank, and I don't even want him.

Ember  
Chapter 22 - Hearth and Home

Through the cold, iron bars of the park's front gate, Daryl held tight to his hostage, the edge of his blade pressed lightly against the soft, hairless skin of the boy's throat. Despite the cold, his palms were starting to sweat, and the injured fingers on his right hand were starting to throb angrily again from the strain of holding the knife. He tried shifting them a bit in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure, but as soon as he moved the kid cried out in alarm. Half a second later, the girl pointing the gun at them started to wail.

Daryl leaned his head forward and hissed into the boy's ear, _"Tell your girlfriend to shut 'er trap! She's gonna get us all killed!"_

From a few yards away, the deep voice that had threatened him only moments before thundered back again.

_"I SAID, LET THE BOY GO!"_

Daryl felt the small hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and for what seemed like the hundredth time in recent memory, he tried to figure out just what the hell was going on. Nothing had gone right for him from the moment he'd left the prison. Even after parting ways with Abraham, his trip back had not gone at all according to plan.

When he'd left his people only a few short days ago, the highway that lead from the park to the prison had been completely deserted - no buildings, no walkers, and hardly an abandoned car to be seen. But the trip back had been a different story. Less than a mile from his exit, a roiling sea of graying, dead faces had suddenly appeared in the bike's lone headlight, seemingly from nowhere. They'd started coming for him almost immediately, drawn by the rumbling of the bike's engine, and not wanting to lead them back to the camp, he'd had to turn around and backtrack almost half a mile. When he'd gotten far enough away, he'd cut the light and wheeled the bike over to the side of the road, hiding it among some overgrown scrub brush. He'd had to continue the rest of the way on foot, keeping to the woods. It had more than doubled his travel time, but he'd managed to avoid most of the small herd. There had been a few stragglers here and there, but nothing unmanageable - even with the busted hand.

Luckily, when he'd reached the back roads leading up to the camp, he'd found that they, at least, were still barren. But his relief had been short lived, for when he'd finally arrived at the park's front gate, there hadn't been anyone watching it. Trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut, Daryl had clicked off his flashlight and been preparing to attempt a climb over the wall, when he'd heard the soft, muffled sound of a young girl's laughter. A moment later, a pair of flashlight beams had haphazardly cut through the darkness on the other side of the gate, and he'd stepped back a few feet, hiding himself in the shadow of a small stand of poplar trees.

He'd watched as two people he hadn't recognized had appeared on the other side of the gate. He hadn't been sure at first, as it had been hard to see anything clearly in the dark, but after a few moments of breathless waiting and listening, it had become clear to him that they weren't any of his people. The pair seemed to be a young couple - inexperienced, by the sound of it - cocky, careless, and so engrossed in one another that they hadn't been paying attention to anything that had been going on around them. From his hiding spot behind the small grove of trees, Daryl had heard more soft laughter, and then watched as one of the flashlights had dropped to the ground. There'd been a brief scuffle, backlit by the the fallen flashlight, and then one of the pair - he thought it might have been the girl - had backed the other up against the gate with a playful shove. They were still and silent for a moment after that, but then their silhouettes had melded together, and the sound of soft, urgent whimpering had reached his straining ears.

For a few seconds he'd almost felt like a creep, watching them from the shadows like that. But when the girl had begun to slowly lower herself to her knees in front of the boy, Daryl had seen an opportunity and hadn't hesitated. Moving fast, he'd come out from the trees and shoved his arm through the gate, pinning the kid to the bars. He'd had the knife out before he'd even realized that the girl had recovered, and was going for her gun. That's when the screaming had started, and brought a whole mess of other people running to their location. The situation had escalated more quickly than he had anticipated, and now he found himself locked in a standoff, outnumbered and outgunned. His hand hurt, his strength was waning, and even if he made it out alive, he still had no idea what had happened to his own people. As Merle was fond of saying, he'd jumped out of the frying pan, and into the fire.

Getting desperate, Daryl hissed into the boy's ear again, _"Tell her to drop that gun right now, and nobody come any closer, or I'll open up your throat, comprende?"_

The kid whimpered, then started blubbering, but somehow, between wet, shaky breaths, he managed to deliver the message. Daryl waited anxiously in the brief silence that followed, praying that they wouldn't call his bluff. But what came back to him in return was more than he'd dared to hope for.

"You don't want to do this, friend," a voice called from the darkness, and for the first time that night, Daryl felt a cold wave of relief wash over him. He knew that voice.

"Rick!" he called out gratefully, his own voice cracking slightly, "Hey Rick! What the hell's goin' on here?! Wh-who are these people?"

After a few seconds' hesitation, he heard the voice call back in disbelief, "Daryl?"

He'd never been so happy to hear his name coming out of a lawman's mouth. Rick must have been feeling it, too, because the next thing he said sounded downright jubilant.

"Everyone calm down, it's alright! This is all just a big misunderstanding."

Daryl watched as Rick stepped out of the darkness and into the pale, yellow beam of the fallen flashlight. Moving slowly, he approached the girl with the gun, his hands held out in front of him.

"Julie...sweetheart," Rick said gently, "you can put the gun down now. This man's not gonna hurt Chris, or you, or anybody. He's my friend." Then, sparing a quick glance in his direction, Rick called over to him, "Let the boy go, Daryl. He's one of ours."

Unwilling to be the first to yield, Daryl watched as the girl - Julie - pulled her gaze away from him to look first at Rick, then at the large black man who was quickly coming down the hill behind him. Her eyes were so wide that even in the dim castoff from the flashlight, Daryl could see how terrified she was. But when she met the man's eyes, he nodded back at her reassuringly, and she slowly lowered the gun. As soon as the barrel was facing the ground, Daryl released his hold on the boy. The kid dropped like a sack of hammers, but within seconds he'd scrambled back onto his feet, and was launching himself into the girl's waiting arms.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Daryl stepped back from the gate, returning his knife to his belt as he waited for Rick to make his way over and let him in.

"You're early," was the first thing the man said once the bars were no longer between them, but he reached out his hand to clasp Daryl's, pulling him into a one-armed embrace. Daryl flinched a bit as Rick's fingers closed firmly around his own, and he hissed softly through his teeth. Rick leaned back from him, loosening his grip.

"What happened?" he asked, frowning as he glanced down at Daryl's hand.

"Didn't have a choice," Daryl said, carefully extracting himself with an apologetic shrug. "Was lucky to get out of there at all - the guy runnin' that place is crazier'n a shithouse rat."

Daryl looked past Rick to the group of people still hanging back on the hill. Without another word, he headed purposefully in their direction.

"Hold up, that's not what I meant," Rick protested, following a step behind him. "Your hand-"

"That's nothin,'" Daryl insisted absently with a shake of his head and an irritated scowl as he scanned the faces in the small crowd. He could see T and Glenn, and there were the farmer's daughters, but... God damn it, where _was_ she?

He was beginning to suspect the worst when Rick finally caught up with him. Laying a firm hand on his shoulder, the lawman frowned and said pointedly, "Daryl, _wait_. We need to talk."

That was when he knew. She'd wasn't on the hill, or back at the camp. She'd never made it out of that town.

His head started shaking, moving back and forth of it's own accord. "No-" he began, but the words got caught in his throat.

"We need to talk about this now," Rick insisted, but Daryl didn't want to hear the rest. He wheeled around, breaking out of Rick's grasp, and took two long strides up the road before he stopped dead in his tracks.

T-Dog had moved away, clearing a path for him, and suddenly there she was, standing still and silent, right there in the middle of the road. They locked eyes, and for a fraction of a second they just stood there, staring at each other in mute disbelief.

Then, just as suddenly, Daryl began to move again. Within a heartbeat, she was there in front of him, her head tilted back, her eyes wide and unreadable as she stared up at him. He felt a rush of strange, conflicting emotions welling up inside his chest. The loss and confusion he'd been feeling only moments before were giving way to something more familiar; something that felt safer. He could feel his face drawing into a scowl. After all the worrying, after every fucked-up thing he'd been through over the past few days, she was just _standing_ there, staring back at him like she was looking at a fucking ghost.

"I thought you were dead," he growled in a low, accusing voice. "I found that mess you left back in town, at that gun store. What the hell were you doin' out there, tryin' to get yourself killed!?"

Carol's mouth dropped open a fraction of an inch, but she didn't respond. Behind him, the same angry voice from earlier warned menacingly, "Watch yourself, man! You don't need to be talking to her like that." Carol's eyes darted nervously past his shoulder to the voice's source, but Daryl ignored it completely, and instead turned on Andrea, who had just arrived on the scene with Michonne.

"And you," he barked, his lip curling up in a sneer, "I _trusted_ you, Blondie. You gave me your _word_. What the hell was she doin' in that place?! You call that-"

But before he could get another word out, Carol closed the narrow distance between them and threw her arms around his neck, stunning him into silence.

"Stop it," she whispered fiercely, running a hand up his neck to cup the back of his head. "Stop it right now! You think you're the only one who was worried sick?!" she scolded, nuzzling her cheek against the side of his head. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

Daryl could feel his face growing hot against the cool skin of her neck. "Told you I was comin' back," he grumbled defensively. Carol's fingers started scratching lightly at the back of his head, and slowly the anger began to drain out of him, leaving him overwhelmed and exhausted. His head felt impossibly heavy, and his hand was aching. His anger spent, all he wanted now was to follow her back to her trailer, climb into bed, and let everything else disappear for a few hours. He loosed a long, heavy breath into the hollow of her neck, and Carol pulled away a little, leaning back to look up at him again.

"You did say that," she agreed, placing a hand on the side of his face. She ran her thumb across his cheekbone and smiled, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Daryl?" Rick called again insistently, intruding on their moment. "I'm sorry, you two, but we've got a lot of ground to cover tonight, and not a lot of time."

Daryl huffed another sigh though his nose. "Yeah..." he said reluctantly, sparing one last glance at Carol.

She offered him a tight-lipped smile and nodded her head firmly once, a stray tear spilling down her left cheek. On a sudden impulse, he reached up and ran his good hand through her hair, ruffling it between his fingers until he reached the back of her head. He held it there, the corner of his mouth quirking up just the tiniest bit as his eyes lingered on hers, then he leaned down and lightly placed a kiss on her forehead.

It was over much too quickly, but Rick and the others were waiting, and there wasn't a whole lot of time left for sentiment; not anymore. He pulled away from her, and with one last backward glance and a nod, he followed Rick up the hill.

iiiii

While the others were gathering around the fire pit to discuss the attack on the prison, Carol spotted Tyreese and his family quietly slipping away to their trailer. Excusing herself for a moment, she ran over to the supply trailer and grabbed a first aid kit. It occurred to her that Tyreese and the kids might want to be left alone after everything that had just happened, and that she was probably about to intrude, but the way Chris had been pressing on his neck on the walk back to camp had bothered her - She wouldn't feel right until she'd had a look at it.

As she made her way past the pit toward Tyreese's front door, Daryl glanced up and caught her eye. She held up the kit for him to see, shaking it back and forth slightly. He nodded once, then returned his attention to the war council.

When she got to the trailer, she climbed the two aluminium steps, then leaned forward and knocked lightly on their door. When no one responded after several seconds, she knocked a little harder.

"Tyreese?" she called softly, leaning her head toward the door, "It's Carol... Can I come in?"

This time she heard heavy footsteps approaching, and then the door swung open. Tyreese was standing in the doorway, his face unusually tense and solemn.

"I..." she began, stumbling over her words. It was the first time since they'd met that she could remember feeling uncomfortable around him. "I wanted to check on the kids... to see if they're alright."

Tyreese's face didn't change, and he didn't respond, but he stepped aside to let her enter.

This RV had an entirely different setup from her own. Where the kitchen table should have been, there was a couch - with what she had to assume was a trundle bed beneath it - and sitting in the middle of it were the kids. Chris was holding a paper towel to his neck now, and Julie was fussing over him. Or, at least, she was trying to. But every time she'd reach up her hand to rub small circles on his back, or stroke his hair, he'd angrily shrug her off. They seemed oblivious at first to Carol's intrusion, but when they finally acknowledged her presence, Julie seemed to almost recoil from her, while Chris seemed intent on staring her down, glaring daggers at her.

"Hi," she said softly, her voice friendly and apologetic. "I won't stay long, I just wanted to check on you both. I brought some bandages and antiseptic," she added, holding up the plastic case for them to see. Neither of the teens said a word. Regardless, she continued.

"I'd like to have a look at your neck," she said, looking at Chris. "Or if you think it's more serious, I could go get Hershel. But either way, someone should take a look."

There was still no response from either of them, but Julie scooted over a bit to give her some room, and Chris removed the paper towel from his neck. Taking her cue, Carol kneeled down in front of the boy, and leaned in close to have a look. There was an angry pink welt running in a diagonal line across the boy's throat, and a tiny spot of dried blood beneath his left ear. It was really no worse than a particularly bad case of razor burn, in all honesty, but the last thing she wanted to do was make light of the situation; she suspected that the real damage was on the inside. It had not only been a traumatic experience, but for Chris, a humiliating one as well. It was the boy's pride that Daryl had inadvertently bruised, and she suspected that those bruises would remain for considerably longer than the welt on his neck.

She swiped an alcohol soaked towlette on the abrasion, and the boy flinched a bit. As she reached for a bandage, she noticed that his fists were balled on his knees, his fingers clenching and unclenching in silent, impotent fury.

"It's...not too bad," she said, applying a bandage to the boy's neck, "but you'll want to keep it covered for a few days. I'll leave the kit here so that you can change the bandage as needed." She paused a moment, then, looking over at Julie, she suggested, "It might not be a bad idea to let Julie help you with that."

Julie looked up at the sound of her name. She didn't smile, but her face softened a bit. Carol took that as a positive sign.

"Are _you_ alright?" she asked the girl. Julie looked back down at her hands again and shrugged. Carol began to tidy up, returning things to the plastic case on the floor by her knees.

"I... I want you both to know that I'm very sorry about what happened tonight," she said softly, watching her hands as they moved things around within the kit, "And I understand if you're scared, or angry, and I know it's a lot to ask of you... really, I have no right... But please..." She looked up then, trying in vain to catch their eyes. "Please know that Daryl would never have laid a hand on either one of you if he'd had any idea who you were. I know he's a little rough around the edges, but he's not someone that you need to be afraid of. He would risk his life for every single member of this group, and that includes you now."

"In fact," she added, after a long beat of silence, "I'm sure he'll come by himself at some point to try to make things right. Ok?"

Carol looked back and forth between the two teenagers hopefully. Chris remained silent, staring past her at the wall. Julie was equally closemouthed, but she gave a little nod.

"Ok..." Carol said softly, rising to her feet. "If you need anything else, don't be shy. I'm right next door."

She turned to leave, but Tyreese stopped her at the door.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he said in a low voice. Carol paused for a moment, then nodded.

She went down the steps and he followed her outside. Around the fire, the conversation was getting intense. She was sure that they should be over there, taking part in it, but Tyreese walked past them without even pausing, and instead headed out past the supply trailer, where things were quieter.

She followed after him, but not before catching the expression on Daryl's face as he watched her pass by.

As soon as they were behind the trailer, out of earshot and out of view, Tyreese jumped right into things.

"Look, about earlier," he said, but Carol quickly cut him off.

"_Don't_. It's fine, it doesn't matter," she protested.

"It does," he insisted. "Because I'm sorry if I overstepped my bounds, and if friendship is all you're looking for, I'm cool with that. I really am. But as your friend, I gotta confess, I've got some concerns."

"Tyreese, please," Carol sighed, "Don't. It's not how you think."

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard," Tyreese said dismissively, "It was all a 'big misunderstanding.'"

"It _was_ a misunderstanding," she insisted. "How would you react if you came home to find armed strangers instead of your family?"

"There _was_ an "armed stranger" in my home tonight - he held a knife to Chris' throat!"

"And I don't doubt for one second that the way you felt in that moment was _exactly_ how _he_ felt when he grabbed Chris in the first place!"

"Yeah, he seems real fond of you all," Tyreese said with bitter sarcasm. "That family reunion was very touching. You and Andrea must be his favorites."

Carol rolled her eyes. "That was just bluster. A lot of hot air. He was scared. He's had a very rough life, without much kindness. Sometimes he has trouble expressing himself."

"Do you even hear yourself?" Tyreese asked incredulously, "This is _exactly_ what concerns me, you're making excuses for him!"

"No," she said calmly, folding her arms over her chest. "No, Tyreese, I'm _explaining_. There's a difference."

"Well while you're at it," Tyreese said evenly, "maybe you can _explain_ to me how an attractive, intelligent woman can admit to everyone, including herself, that she _barely_ managed to escape her abusive marriage, but then somehow, she can't seem to recognize that she's started up another one."

_"Daryl is __**not**__ Ed,"_ she said coldly. "Daryl may rant and rail against the world when he doesn't know what to do with himself, but underneath all of that, Daryl has a heart of gold. He's a good man - the best man I have ever known. When my little girl went missing, Daryl went out looking for her every single day. He almost died looking for her. He never gave up, and he wouldn't let me give up, either. He was kind to me, brought me comfort... He didn't have to do that. Any of it. He didn't even know us, really. Just a lost little girl and a mother crying... He didn't owe us a thing. But that man did more for us in those few weeks than Ed ever did in his whole miserable life. The only thing Ed ever gave me was fear and pain and a body full of bruises. Ed would beat me for looking at him the wrong way - most of the time I didn't even know what I'd done. He took perverse joy in 'putting me in my place,' and as our daughter got older, he started making eyes at her, too. So don't you stand there and presume to tell me that I can't tell the difference between a decent man and a monster, Tyreese, because I would know better than anyone else here!"

Tyreese was silent for what seemed like a long time, and in all that time, he didn't look away. Neither did she. But eventually he sighed, and said, "Alright. I'd better get back to the kids."

"Alright," she responded.

He smiled faintly, but his eyes were detached from it. "I'll see you in the morning, Carol."

Carol watched him go. When the door to his trailer had closed behind him, she made her way over to the center of camp, where fire was starting to dwindle but the conversation was still going strong. Someone had brought out a small folding table, and on it's surface was a rolled-out set up blueprints, it's corners held down with rocks.

"Tear gas," Daryl was explaining as she approached, pointing to a corner of the map with a piece of white chalk. "Won't get outta hand like a fire could, and it'll be faster and more consistent."

"Right..." Rick said, rubbing his forehead as he stared down at the spot where Daryl was pointing. "Right, of course. In case of riots. Jesus, why didn't I think of that?"

"We'll need snipers in those towers," Andrea said, pointing to two squares near the bottom of the print. "I want to do it."

"That's what I was thinkin'," Daryl said, nodding at her. "While I'm settin' off the gas, you and Michonne can take the towers-"

"I'm not a sharp shooter," Michonne protested. "I can get Andrea in position, no problem. I can even take out the other tower if they've doubled their guard for whatever reason, but you'll need someone else up there who can shoot."

Rick nodded, looking to Andrea, then Daryl. "Alright. Who else have we got?"

"Nobody stands out," Andrea said reluctantly. "T, Maggie, Glenn, Hershel...they're all pretty good shots. And, of course, Carol."

Daryl looked up at that, shooting Carol a sideways glance, but said nothing.

"But honestly Rick," Andrea continued, "besides you..."

"I can do it," Carl interjected, turning several heads in the process. "You know I can, Dad. I'm a good shot. You've said so yourself."

"Absolutely not," Lori said definitively. "Out of the question."

"I'm not asking you, I'm talking to Dad!" Carl spat back at her.

Lori's eyes widened, and she looked up at Rick for support. "This is not up for debate!" she countered. "It's not happening, end of story!"

"Your mother's right," Rick said evenly. "And I don't appreciate you talking to her like that, so watch your mouth. Besides, you can't be up in the towers, I'm going to need you to keep your mother and your little brother or sister safe while all this is going down."

Carl scowled, fuming. "That's such a cop-out, Dad!"

"How is that a cop-out?" Rick asked, visibly trying to remain patient with the boy. "Son, can you tell me what's more important than protecting the people we love?"

To Carol's surprise, she felt Daryl's fingertips brush against her own.

"Nothing..." Carl said finally, defeated.

Rick nodded. "Nothing. That's why we're doing this. Never forget that. We don't fight because we want to - we don't go looking for a fight. We fight to protect the ones we love."

"So...the other tower?" Andrea asked after a beat.

"I'll go," Rick said finally. "And that's settled. Meanwhile, I think we should concentrate the rest of our efforts on the right, here," he said, pointing to the gates by a spot Daryl had marked "armory" in chalk. "If any of them make it past the snipers and try to make a go of it, where do you think is the first place they're gonna head?"

"What if they go left?" Daryl asked. "Try to get through the fences and make a break for it over the hill?"

"Let them go," Hershel said. "There's nothing out here for one or two people on their own. With no food, water, weapons, or transport, they won't last long."

"I don't know..." Daryl said doubtfully. "Seems risky."

"Tyreese and the kids were out there walking around for almost a week," Carol offered. "If we hadn't found them when we did, they'd have died out there. Tyreese has said as much."

"Maybe," Daryl said, "And honestly, most of those fuckers don't know whether they're comin' or goin', so you might be right about that... But Merle could make it."

"Well," T-Dog said flatly, "Someone will just have to make sure that he doesn't."

After the rather uncomfortable silence that followed T's remark, Daryl added, "That ain't just it. There's somethin' else. Somethin' Abraham said, about a place up north from the prison that's been givin' 'em some hassle."

"That's good to know for the future, but we can't worry about that now," Rick said, shaking his head. "One thing at a time. We get the prison first, and then we'll be in a position to deal with whatever else comes along."

iiiii

The meeting went on long after the last of the firewood had run out, until it became too cold to function anymore, and one by one, they began retreating to the comfort of their beds. Carol waited on her doorstep, the ratty, old blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, while Daryl exchanged a few last words with Rick and Hershel - Andrea and Michonne had bowed out only moments before, taking over the watch from Maggie and Beth.

After a few more minutes, Rick and Hershel headed in themselves, and Daryl went over to the table, taking one last look at the blueprints before removing the rocks and folding them up.

Carol walked over to him, reaching out to gently take his hand.

"Has Hershel had a look at this?" she asked, lifting it up to lightly trace her finger across the delicate gauze.

"Not yet," he said, his voice soft and gruff. She'd missed the sound of it.

"I already know it ain't broken anyhow," he continued, "But if it makes you feel better, I'll have him take a look at it in the mornin'.'" He slipped the folded-up blueprints into his back pocket.

"Couldn't hurt," she said, cupping the bandaged hand between her palms. Then, tilting her head slightly, she asked casually,"You coming to bed?"

Daryl huffed a soundless laugh through his nose and favored her with a weary smile.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. "Yeah, sorry... Why don't you go warm it up, I'll be in in a minute."

"Ok," she said softly, smiling back. She lingered for another moment, holding on to his hand, then carefully made her way back to the RV.

It was pitch black inside the trailer, so she lit a candle and left it burning on the kitchen table for him. Sitting down on the bed, she removed her bra and shoes, then quickly slid between the freezing cold sheets. In another world, she might have stripped down to nothing and lain in wait for him - or at the very least made a token effort to look more appealing for their first night back together - but it was just too damned cold. And anyhow, this wasn't a romance. They were practical people.

So instead she waited shivering, huddled fully clothed beneath the blankets. It felt like an eternity had passed before she finally heard the sound of his boots approaching the door. But instead of continuing up the stairs as expected, they paused a moment, as though Daryl were trying to decide whether or not to come in at all. A few seconds later, his footsteps moved on.

Confused, she held her breath, listening intently as he moved past her window and beyond, until finally stopping several feet away. Through the trailer's thin walls, she heard a tinny knock, and a few moments later, the sound of a door swinging open.

Over the sound of her own heart thudding loudly in her ears, she heard Tyreese's deep baritone ask what the hell he wanted; and even though she'd promised as much to Julie and Chris, Daryl's halting reply was still completely unexpected.

"Hey, listen... Sorry 'bout what happened earlier..."

Carol's breath came out in a dizzying rush, and she missed Tyreese's response entirely - asssuming he had responded at all. She hadn't heard a door slam, at least, and she took that as a positive sign. Truth be told, she hadn't heard a door close at all; which must have been why a moment later, as she heard Daryl step back down off the metal staircase, he added,

"An' tell the kid no hard feelin's, ok?"


End file.
